


Fate-In Time

by Parcasious



Category: Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Action, Adventure, F/M, Magic, Slow Burn, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:02:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 50
Words: 294,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24204841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parcasious/pseuds/Parcasious
Summary: He was a hopeless man, a man who would amount to a little more than a fool. Yet this man pursued an endless dream, a dream in which he could hold her again... (A Shirou medieval Britain Fic-beginning before Saber drew Caliburn)
Relationships: Emiya Shirou/Artoria Pendragon | Saber
Comments: 8
Kudos: 54





	1. Chapter 1

Arturia Pendragon peered across at the boy in front of her. In all her nine years of life, she had never once seen a boy with red hair. His clothes were also strange; they were garments made of cloth that seemed to wrap themselves around the body. Could he perhaps be a Saxon? Her eyes narrowed, but she quickly discarded the notion, there were no Saxons with red hair. A Scotsmen then? But why would he be so far out and lying in the middle of a wheat field in the middle of nowhere?

A flicker of doubt entered Arturia's mind. Could this possibly be like one of brother Kay's stories, the one's where bad children were taken away by fairies? Goblins? She shuddered. She was a good girl, something like that would never happen to her.

Despite Sir Ector's confidence of the lack of authenticity of Kay's stories, she couldn't get them out of her mind.

The boy grumbled in his sleep, startling Arturia who decided to take cover behind a bushel of wheat. She would observe him for now, and if things went bad...She gripped her wooden sword tied by a line of thread to her waist.

The boy grumbled a bit more before his eyes flickered open. He seemed startled if his reaction was anything to go by, eyes darting back and forth and mouth gaping open. It was all the more reason for Arturia to believe he was captured and taken away by the Fairies or was it Goblins? She squeaked when she realized she said her thoughts out loud and the boy was now staring at her.

It appeared that he was no longer startled, his eyes seeming to lock onto her like a starved animal. What had the fairy's done to him?

Shakily, he stood up, his gaze lightening as he gave her a sheepish smile.

Arturia would not fall for the fairy's magic, mischievous as they were known to be. "State thy name." She said curtly, weary of the spell the fairies might have cast upon the boy.

"Shirou Emiya," the boy said after a moment of hesitation.

_A Fairy's name!_ Arturia had never heard of a name so foreign, but still, the boy had a last name. Last names were only given to those of enough standing. Perhaps he was the abducted son of knight? She would give him the benefit of the doubt.

"What are you doing here?" Arturia asked curiously.

"I don't even know myself," Shirou began as he scratched at the back of his head. "I was hunting a local beast terrorizing a town and all of a sudden I'm here." Said beast in this case was a Dead Apostle that Shirou was tasked to eliminate.

"...Hunting for a beast, did you have anyone else with you?" Arturia asked.

"Yeah, a superior," Shirou replied thinking about the arrogant magus tasked with leading him and a team of enforcers.

He must have been a knight in training, perhaps a squire like herself before the fairies took him, Arturia mused, all but cementing her hypothesis. The fact that he suddenly appeared in the middle of a wheat field several legions away from Scotland was enough of an indicator.

Shirou's gaze traveled down to Arturia's wooden sword. "You practice?" He asked.

Arturia nodded, not seeing where he was getting at. If he wanted a spar, he wouldn't be getting one if he himself did not have a practice weapon.

"Trace on," Shirou said as identical practice swords appeared in each of his hands.

Arturia's eyes widened, the Fairies taught him magic! Absently she wondered what kind of magic she would learn from Merlin in a couple months.

"May I ask for a practice match for one as talented as yourself?" Shirou asked.

Shirou had a smooth tongue, Arturia had to admit, and quite quickly she found herself interested in his proposition. When else would she gain the opportunity to test her sword against a swordsman taught by Fairies?

"I accept," Arturia said with her posture straight and eyes level with her opponent as any squire should.

Shirou didn't answer Arturia's declaration right away. He was lost in thought; it had been so very long since he'd last seen her. Not once had he ever stopped searching, and now...He had no words to describe the sheer pressure within his chest, even if they were both younger versions of themselves. He sought to be a hero, but he had done so not just because of his ideals, but in _her_ memory. Had he finally reached the end of his search? He was removed from his thoughts when he noticed the impatient glance of Arturia in front of him.

"Thank you," Shirou said as he got into a loose stance. "Whenever you're ready."

Arturia narrowed her eyes on Shirou, that was ready? He had openings everywhere, the most blatant at the spots Sir Ector said to protect and aim for. Center-left chest, lower-right abdominal, they were all open. She narrowed her eyes and decided to test the waters.

She struck at an opening and was subsequently blocked. She furrowed her brows. What was going on? She struck again and was met with the same results. She released a breath and steeled her face, she would land a blow, that she swore.

Shirou couldn't keep his thoughts straight as he stared into Arturia's determined face. When was the last time he had seen it? Absently he batted away another of Arturia's swings. She wasn't the same peerless swordsman he remembered, but she was still a child at this point. Her stance was a tad awkward, but she more than made up for it with her natural ability. Still though, he would never want to see her hurt...

"Square your shoulders more when you're striking."

_What?_ Arturia was confused for a moment, but soon realized what Shirou had meant. Quickly she corrected her mistake. However, her mind struggled to come up with an answer. Why would you give pointers to your opponent?

"Use your hips more, it will generate more power in your swings."

_Again?_ Why was he helping her?

_A Knight's chivalry is one to live by._

Sir Ectors words resounded through her mind. They were probably both Squires, Arturia thought as she struck at Shirou once again, noting the difference in strength when she used here hips. Perhaps his own Code of Honour dictated him to help a fellow Squire? Nonetheless, she would be grateful for his advice. The only other person who she had as a mentor was Kay.

The sound of sword swings would echo throughout the wheat field for hours, and it was the most fun Arturia had had in a long time. Her time with Kay was fun, but the experience was different with a person her own age. To top it off, she could tell that Shirou was an adept swordsman. She had learned and improved a lot from the chance encounter.

Arturia smiled as she left for home that day, saying a quick goodbye and running off.

"Goodbye Arturia," Shirou said a moment later.

Arturia stopped walking back to her home with Sir Ector and her brother Kay, suddenly coming to a realization.

She never gave Shirou her name, yet how did he- Fairy magic.

There was a noticeable twitch on her face when she would arrive home that day, and it was all Kay's fault.

* * *

Little did Arturia know on that day, that her intital hypothesis of Fairies was closer to the truth of Shirou's origins than anything else...

_His body was made out of swords._

Something had happened to Shirou for him to awake in the middle of a wheat field, but more importantly, it was the changes to his body that neither of them noticed on that day...and no, it was not that he switched genders. If he had, this would be a completely different tale of the one tasked with endlessly searching. Of the one who had realized his origins and power ten years after the fifth Holy Grail War, and who had unlocked the key to his ultimate weapon, his reality, another ten years later.

This was the story of a fate locked in time.


	2. Chapter 2

Shirou opened his eyes to that unfamiliar scent of damp musky forest. For a moment, he didn't know where he was, but then the memories came flooding in. It smelt like forest because he was living in a forest. He wasn't exactly dropped off in the middle of a wheat field with money of any kind and a place to call home. Yet he wouldn't have it any other way, _she_ was here.

After that day, the Fifth Holy Grail War, he had not once stopped searching for her. For years he had been without her. For years of constant anguish, he pursued his own ideals in memory of a woman who had walked a similar path. Shirou clenched his fists, he didn't know what had happened to bring him here, and frankly, he just didn't care. _She_ was here, and that was all that mattered. He couldn't let the opportunity slip through his fingers. At that moment when he had first seen _her_ again, at the moment he first realized the implications of where he was, he had sworn an oath. In much the same way as a memory of noble woman had once done for him, he would do all in his power to uphold it. This time she wouldn't be alone to bare the burden of a King under an emotionless mask.

Shirou stood up from his make-shift bed of leaves; he would have to go hunting today. Based on the orientation of the sun and humidity of the air, it was mid summer. At least he wouldn't have to worry about the cold of winter. He walked towards the river, his only supply of water, and washed his face off, the cold clearing away the blur of his tired eyes. He was fortunate, he thought, that there was a forest with a river adjacent to the wheat field.

A sound soon snapped him to attention, his muscles tensing. It was a habit after many years in pursuit of Dead Apostles, or anything for that matter that brought harm.

Shirou turned and had a projection ready at the back of his mind; he could never be too cautious, life had taught him that. However, it would be for naught as he immediately relaxed.

"So you've come again," Shirou said to the single blond ahoge sticking up from a bush. It twitched before Arturia revealed herself.

"How do you do that?" Arturia asked. She was sure that she was hidden. For all intents and purposes, today was the day she was going to find where he lived. Could it be that the Fairies raised him in the forest? Could she finally prove Kay wrong for laughing at her face when he was the one who told her of Fairies? It was not a pleasant memory to remember coming home that one day.

"The same way I've done for the past seven twilights. A Knight in training such as yourself isn't suited to hiding in the shadows."

"O-Of course," Arturia stuttered. It was the first time someone other than her family acknowledged her desire to be a Knight. She set her mind straight at that point. "And a Knight in training like yourself shouldn't be hiding secrets in the forest."

Shirou smirked at the rebutle. "Not a Knight."

"Yeah, you're a Squire."

"No, not a Squire."

Arturia furrowed her brows. What mind games was Shirou playing at? She wouldn't believe him; no regular boy should possess the amount of sword skills he has. Nice try, but she wouldn't be falling for it. Question is, why would he not admit it? "Then what?" She decided to humour him.

"Just a hunter." Shirou looked at Arturia, unable to hide the flicker of emotion that crossed his eyes at that moment. He could only hope that Arturia wouldn't pick up on it.

Arturia stared, but seemed to shake it off as she began to ponder.

 _A hunter?_ Arturia echoed in her mind. _Of all the excuses he could use, why a hunter?_ Then again they were in a forest and Shirou didn't appear to be living in a home. Why didn't he have a home, surely he had a home? Better yet, why was he hiding it? Surely the Fairies would of had a place for him to stay. Arturia's eyes narrowed...

Arturia's stomach growled; she blushed and quickly covered her face. It was her fault for not eating anything, but she couldn't help it. The only way she could have gotten food was by asking Sir Ector. God knows how perceptive Sir Ector was; he would have asked where and who first thing in the morning. Quite frankly, she hadn't told anyone of her encounter with Shirou, at least not yet.

Shirou smiled and reluctantly began the day's activities. "Hunger is the enemy." He said as he draped a warm cloak over his shoulders. A bow appeared in his hand, and he soon walked into the forest foliage. "Wait here, I'll be back with some food." He called over.

Arturia nodded her head a moment after she knew her blush was gone. Only then did she realize she missed her opportunity to follow after Shirou. It was the whole point of getting up early and fooling Kay to deal with Sir Ector's morning activities; namely feeding the live stock. Now what was she supposed to do? Her hand fumbled with the practice sword strapped to her waist. Perhaps she could practice with Shirou later...Well she supposed she could do a warm up before then.

* * *

Shirou traveled quietly within the woods, his bow at the ready and eyes searching for movement. A hare would be preferable over a deer due to the difference in weight because of his child sized body. However, if push came to shove and all he found was a deer, he supposed he could simply reinforce his body with magic. Now if he did that, how would he be able to explain it to Arturia? I work out?

Somehow, Shirou just knew she wouldn't believe that. Then again, he could just take his chances. If he knew her, and he damn well did, then he knew even as a child she must eat a lot. _Two hares then, or a deer,_ he decided. Luckily it was at that moment that a hare entered his perfireals. With practiced ease, he easily shot it down. _One down, one more to go_.

Walking to the downed hare, Shirou picked it up and placed it in a pouch hanging from his waist. A flicker of movement caught his eye, and quickly, he reinforced his legs and jumped onto a tree.

 _A phantasmal beast?_ Shirou mused as he watched the small creature. It had the shape of a hawk, but was a tad bigger. If it wasn't for its teal coloured eyes, and ethereal glow, a dim blue, it would not have looked out of place in the forest. Now the question was, what would one be doing in the middle of the woods? Then again why was it staring at him? Just to make sure, Shirou waved a hand and watched as its eyes followed. It really was watching him, how strange. What could it possibly want with him? In a come hither sort of motion, it waved its head as if to say follow me.

Shirou furrowed his brows, but nonetheless, decided to follow the phantasmal beast. Good idea or not, it would be best not to leave a phantasmal beast unattended. It walked on sharp red talons, occasionally turning its head to check if he was still following. Eventually, it stopped and flew off. Shirou's eyes never left it until it perched atop a tree and signaled him to move forward with its eyes. He complied, but he made sure to keep a constant eye on the beast. His attention however, would soon be diverted upon his feet stepping on smooth cobblestone.

He looked up.

A house? No it was more of a mansion, but why was it in the middle of the woods? For all intents and purposes, it was abandoned. Shirou didn't know for how long, but vegetation was already creeping its way throughout the house. This was probably the home of the phantasmal beast, but why would it bring him here?

Shirou walked closer and upon inspection noticed a plank near the old front gate.

_Ashton Forest._

The plank read.

With a caw, the phantasmal beast once again flew off, but this time straight onto the top of the mansion. It again cawed, urging him to continue before it raised a wing and began preening its soft brown feathers. Hesitantly, he stepped through the old gate.

_"Welcome home."_

A gentle voice echoed throughout Shirou's mind. Snapping his gaze back to the phantasmal beast, it disappeared within the mansion.

"Welcome home?" Shirou mused aloud. If he was confused with the nature of the phantasmal beast before, now he was baffled. Phantasmal beasts, at least the ones he's encountered, were never too friendly to humans. The majority of them preferred staying away, or downright antagonizing them, and by antagonizing, he meant killing. Things such as Goblins, Imps, and the like, they were all easy to understand, but this particular beast...

Shirou scratched at the back of his head. Welcome home, could mean a majority of things, but the easiest conclusion was he was home. The phantasmal beast must have lead him here assuming he was the master of the house, which was strange in and out of itself. Phantasmal beasts just don't do that. If they have a land in which they believe is theirs, they would gaurd it, not give it away. Then again, he was always a third rate magus, his knowledge only coming from experience.

Touring the mansion grounds, Shirou noticed a chicken pen near the backyard. He debated on what to do, that is, until the phantasmal beast perched atop his shoulder. He tensed.

_"Welcome home."_

The voice repeated within Shirou's mind.

"What do you mean?" Shirou asked moments later, realizing the beast wasn't out to attack him. Perhaps it could understand him.

The phantasmal beast tilted its head in confusion before waving a wing to encompass the area.

_"Yours."_

The voice said.

"Mine?" Shirou said confused, but no voice returned to answer. Instead, the phantasmal beast simply began to preen its feathers, drawing attention to the colar around its foot.

The colar read, Efret. A name probably.

Noticing Shirou's stare, Efret once again motioned towards the area and said 'yours.'

Efret was a peculiar phantasmal beast, Shirou decided, but it was docile. Raising a hand, Shirou began to pet Efret, noticing the way it pressed up against his hand. Smiling slightly, Shirou turned his attention back to the chicken pen. It would seem as if he didn't have to go hunting any time soon.

* * *

"Not yet," Shirou said to Arturia. "It's not cooked yet."

After leaving the mansion and promising Efret that he would return, Shirou was now preparing lunch for himself and Arturia. Lunch in this case consisted of skinned hare and chicken, most of which was close to cooked after ten minutes on an improvised spit. Most of the components were made out of wood, but Shirou had created a turning knob for the spit.

"But the meat already looks tender," Arturia said with a huff, a sign of her protest. She was tired and hungry after practicing her swordsmanship by herself throughout the morning, and it was Shirou's fault for taking so long. "And I don't understand why you're coating it with...with..." Arturia trailed off.

"Herbs," Shirou supplied.

"Herbs," Arturia finished. They were an ingredient Shirou seemed to have found in the woods. Apparently they make food taste better? Somehow she doubted that- They just looked like little leaves, or grass tips. Moreover, the black rock thing that Shirou ground up and called black pepper, it was horrible. Albeit, she took a sample for herself when he wasn't looking. She just took a _tad_ bit, a little smidgen on her index finger in which she proceeded to stick into her mouth. It was the wrong decision.

Her eyes focused uncertainly as she noticed Shirou sprinkling the black pepper and the other herbs over the food, in which case he declared lunch served.

"Do you want the hare, or the chicken?" Shirou asked as he held out the two pieces of meat-on-a-stick. They were shishkabobs really.

Arturia debated for a moment, but ultimately chose the hare since she had eaten enough chicken at home. Tentatively, she drew her mouth closer and took a small nibble, not unlike a chipmunk nibbling on a nut. She chewed, her eyes betraying nothing as her tongue pushed the food around every crevice of her mouth. She chewed and chewed and chewed, Shirou noting the way her chewing was getting faster. She soon swallowed.

Arturia paused and simply stared at the hare in her hands. _G-God's divine! What was she eating!_ It was love at first bite. _B-Black pepper, to think that such a h-horrendous thing could- magic! It was magic!_ How else could she explain such a burst in flavour. Her mouth was in heaven, her eyes glazed, and her mind unfocused. All she could think off was taking the next bite.

 _I had a feeling she ate a lot even as a child._ Shirou mused as he smiled wryly. The scene itself was nostalgic, although, it would seem that Arturia did not yet possess her dignified eating skills, if the grease on her cheeks was any indication. Bite after bite, she sunk her teeth into the tender meat and practically glowed. It was enough to stop him from eating and just fondly watch her. _A fatal error._ He soon concluded when her eyes landed on his uneaten chicken, and the remains of the hare in her hand. And yet, it was the small things, times like these, that Shirou could fully realize the enormity of his situation. He was with her again, and he would never trade it away.

Shaking his head in amusement, he tore off a small chunk of chicken for himself and gave the rest away. Next time, he'd have to get more food. Three chickens? Four? Five? He didn't mind, as long as Arturia was happy.

After cleaning themselves off at the river after their meal, Shirou decided it was time to make some money. "I'm going to head to town to see if I can sell the hare's pelt for a few coppers, maybe even a silver. Perhaps even tour the town a bit." He said to Arturia.

"I'll come with you but," Arturia paused and stared hesitantly at Shirou. "When we're there, call me Arthur."

Arturia didn't mind all that much that Shirou called her by her given name. He had known it all along after all, magic probably. However, in public, she was known as Arthur as carefully instructed by Sir Ector.

"That's fine." Shirou agreed. He knew that she was hiding her identity as a woman and her reasons for it. Therefore he said his next words with certainty. "You're a boy after all."

Arturia froze. "Y-Yeah..." She said uncertainly, her gaze unable to meet Shirou's. Still though, she was frustrated. Could he not tell that she was a girl? Was she so lacking in femininity? She had heard from the local mothers that milk was good, perhaps she should drink more- _No! This was good the way it was! It's better for Shirou not to know, but but..._ Arturia snuck a glance up at Shirou, her thoughts conflicted on the matter. There he was, so carefree, so reliable to be able to take care of himself alone. Arturia had no doubts that she would struggle through life without Sir Ector and Kay's guidance, but Shirou, he was different. Not only was he surviving, but he also found the time to entertain her in a _forest_. He was trustworthy, even her gut said so. "...S-Shirou, I-I'm not a-"

"-You know, you're gonna get left behind if you just stand there?" Shirou called a distance away. Arturia hadn't noticed that Shirou was walking forward due to gazing at the ground.

"C-Coming!" Arturia called as she ran up to Shirou's side. Together they made the trek to the town of Bristol; an awkward silence hung between them that didn't fade until Shirou slapped Arturia's back and said that 'she was thinking to hard.'

* * *

"Well, that went better than expected," Shirou muttered as he pocketed the sum of copper coins he had received from the trader. "I didn't think it was worth that much."

"14 coppers, that's enough for a few meals," Arturia said.

Shirou nodded his head. It was good that he had pocket money, never know what he might need to buy. At least he had a house know if Efret had anything to say about it. He still had to make good on his promise to return. For now however, he enjoyed touring the town of Bristol. It was truly a novelty experience. The houses were made with timber from trees, and the the thatch roofs proved to be good insulators. The small smithy he had noticed upon entering the town was fast at work on an anvil forging a steel bowl of some sort, a pot probably.

A comotion soon caught Shirou's attention. A boy Arturia's age wearing white breeches, black stockings, and a gold coloured coat, was harassing a similarly aged girl who wore no more than rags. The boy had shaggy brown hair swept to the side, and had a sneer on his face. The girl however, was distraught, her once clean braid coming loose and releasing her blond coloured hair to sway past her back.

Shirou's eyes narrowed when the boy slapped the girl to the ground.

"Local bullies, a nobleman's son based on that Coat of Arms," Shirou said, relying on shared memories form the Fifth war.

"That's Lord Wolfred's son," Arturia supplied in disgust. "Sir Ector asked me not to get involved in things like this."

"So you'd just stand by?"

Arturia trembled in anger. Of course she wanted to do something, but she knew Sir Ector's reason for wanting her to stay uninvolved. It would be a breach in her honour should she disobey Sir Ector when all he wanted was to keep her safe. Still though, she had heard the rumours of how Lord Wolfred's son miss-treated the local girls; to have it proven in front of her drove her to the edge. Her hands trembled as she gripped her practice sword; she grimaced as she struggled with her morals.

Noticing Arturia's troubled face, Shirou knew what he was going to do. Hell, he probably would have done so anyway. He knocked his bow which he had brought with him, and fired.

"AAah!" Lord Wolfred's son yelled as the arrow nearly grazed his hand- The hand moving to slap the girl a second time.

"That's enough," Shirou said as he approached. Tentatively, he held a hand out for the girl to take while directing his attention on the son of Wolfred. "That's no way to treat a lady."

Hesitantly, the girl took Shirou's hand and stared between Shirou and Lord Wolfred's son. Her family could not pay their tax fees, nor could they spare any food if they were to last the coming winter. She had hoped that she could ask Lord Wolfred, the kind man he was, to exempt her family as he did once before. Unfortunately, she had the pleasure of speaking to his son instead...

"A lady? Hah! You can't be serious," the boy laughed. "She's but a peasant unable to pay the tax money."

"The tax money?" Shirou asked.

"Yes, but a mere five coppers that she can't seem to produce."

The girl looked down in shame. It wasn't her fault that she was born poor, not that she blamed her parents. They were the kind of father and mother who did their best to provide, no matter how meager what they provided was.

Shirou didn't hesitate as he removed five copper from his pouch and tossed them to the son of Wolfred. "Here, five copper." he said. Turning around, he then gave his remaining nine to the girl behind him. "Use it for your family," he said.

Did Shirou regret giving away his pocket money? Not one bit. Besides, it was money well spent to help the life of another.

"T-Thank you!" The girl said clumsily as she bowed. She had never known of a nobleman so nice to commoners.

"Your welcome, but you best be going," Shirou said.

Nodding, the girl waisted no time in getting away from the son of Wolfred.

Meanwhile, Arturia was staring at the scene unfolding. She was impressed, Shirou had not only stood up for a stranger, but he helped said stranger knowing her situation. His actions only further cemented Arturia's trust in him. Admittedly however, she was feeling inadequate. There was Shirou upholding his laws of chivalry, and here _she_ was doing absolutely nothing! Granted, she was doing her best to listen to Sir Ector, but she lamented her inability to help. No, she wouldn't accept that, she would find a way to help!

The son of Wolfred was soon glaring at Shirou. Not only had he ruined his fun, but now he clearly noticed Shirou's bow and lack of an arrow. It didn't take him long to connect the dots as to who nearly shot his hand off. "How dare you! Do you even know who I am? You're just a mere peasant!" He yelled.

"You're Lord Wolfred's son," Shirou said evenly as he retrieved his arrow and promptly glared back. "Now the question is, do you know who I am?"

"A low born Cur. Sir Anders, deal with him and have him locked in father's prison."

Shirou turned his attention to the Knight, Sir Anders, approaching him. He was tall and well muscled, his armour barely covering his body, he could utilize that. His joints were the largest openings, perfect for an attack, but on his head was a full on helmet. As Shirou was contemplating his actions, Arturia approached.

"Halt," Arturia surprisingly said to Sir Anders. Surprised with the sheer charisma of the command, Sir Anders stopped. "As a Knight, you should address proper courtesy. Even if who you face is a Squire."

 _A squire?_ Shirou thought puzzled.

"A-A Squire?" Sir Anders stuttered in surprise. "T-Then he's the son of a noble?"

Arturia nodded her head. "Do your eyes not see the colours he bares on his body beneath his cloak?"

Shirou stood dumbfounded for a moment before he removed the cloak around him and revealed his inner clothing. He wore the red garb gifted to him by Caren Ortensia during his time as an enforcer, and a sleek black body armour. He surprisingly resembled the Archer of the Fifth War if not for him wearing blue jeans.

Regaining his bearing, Sir Anders stood straight, his sword held upright by his chest. "Then I face you as Sir Anders of the Knights of Lord Wolfred," he said.

"Shirou Emiya of...Ashton Forest." Shirou said all the while copying the movement of Sir Anders. As for the name, he recalled the location of the abandoned home.

Sir Anders blinked. "You were the son of the late Duke Ashton?" He stared quizzically at Shirou until his gaze focused on Shirou's eyes. "That would explain the noble red and black in which you wear. The eye colour is identical too, even the name seems like something the old fool would think off; a pity for his naming sense."

Arturia mulled the new information in her head, Shirou wasn't from Scotland?

"Sir Anders, attack already!" The young son of Wolfred demanded.

"Quiet boy! This news is something your father may wish to hear." Sir Anders placed a hand on Shirou's shoulder. "How did you survive the assassination boy?"

Shirou didn't answer as everyone interpreted his silence in different ways.

"I see...Duke Ashton must have hidden you away." Sir Anders eyes narrowed. "You best not repeat this information to anyone else. Never know who would want to kill you."

 _Kill him?_ Arturia stared at Shirou wide-eyed. He was in hiding as well? The feeling of shame once again welled up within her. Even though he was in hiding like her, he still chose to stand up for what he believed was right. She had no excuses for why she didn't help. If Shirou could risk himself for another, why couldn't she?

Meanwhile, Shirou hesitantly nodded his head to Sir Anders question.

"Good," Sir Anders said. "Unfortunately I still have to oblige the young master here in a spar with you. Don't worry though, I'll take it easy on an aspiring Knight. Although I don't see your sword on you."

Shirou contemplated creating a sword, but a tap on his shoulder had him stop dead in his tracks.

"Here," Arturia said. "Use mine. I'm sorry if I haven't been of much help."

"Thanks, you've done more than enough," Shirou replied as he took her wooden practice sword.

"You plan to test this steel against that wood?" Sir Anders asked as he brandished his sword.

Reinforcing Arturia's practice sword, Shirou smirked. "Yup."

"Then have at thee!" Sir Anders yelled.

Shirou breathed in and closed his eyes.

_Shirou, always keep your guard up._

He stepped to the left, narrowly dodging Sir Anders frontal swing. His sword was raised above him from a low stance, covering the majority of his upper body and head.

_When you strike, you strike with purpose. Use your hips to generate power._

"Agh!" Shirou yelled as he came low and struck high. Sir Anders met his blow with his sword, but severely underestimated Shirou's reinforced strength. It was a price he would have to pay. With a resounding bang, Sir Ander's chest plate caved in from the sheer blunt force.

"B-But it's wood!" Sir Ander's yelled in disbelief. He wanted to heave, but years of training were enough to force the action down. He had underestimated Shirou, but no longer; he didn't want to have to repair anymore armour.

_When the enemy stands before you, any notion of mercy must flee your mind. The path must be clear, the outcome decided in swift motion._

Shirou opened his eyes and leveled a calm gaze at Sir Anders.

Sir Anders struck with ferocity, his blows heavy and precise, and yet every blow was parried in equal amounts skill and strength. To defeat without shame, to match honest blows with honest blows, thus was the path of chivalry, the way of the Knight.

Shirou parried one last swing from Sir Anders and backed away, maintaining his form.

Arturia gasped. Watching Shirou move, his swings, his footwork, it seemed as she was watching a mirror image of herself, only without any of her flaws. He did not over reach as she would still often do, nor did he rely too much on his own strength. Rather, he used the strength of his enemy to his advantage. This was the type of swordsmanship she was aspiring for.

Shirou's eyes narrowed as he watched for movement on Sir Anders's part.

_That's right, keep your arms steady, your legs firmly planted, and when the enemy strikes-_

Sir Anders lunged, a firm hand on his sword moving in a horizontal swing.

_You clear the distance and put an end to the battle._

Shirou cleaved down and pushed Sir Anders's sword to the ground before pushing off on his feet. Sparks came off from the swords as Shirou slid his weapon up Sir Anders's sword and promptly stopped below his unguarded neck.

"Yield," Shirou said.

"Fair enough," Sir Anders huffed as he pushed Shirou's blade away. "Your apprenticed Knight has taught you well. Although how a piece of wood withstood my sword is beyond me." Sir Anders held out a hand. "A good spar boy, next time won't be so easy."

"I wouldn't hope it to be," Shirou said as he grasped Sir Anders hand.

"Wait wait wait!" The son of Wolfred yelled. "Sir Anders, you were supposed to beat him and lock him in father's prison!"

Sir Anders glared. "Foolish child, if you ever hope to be a Knight it would be better to take after this boy than it would be to imprison him. Besides, I like this boy more than I like you."

"W-What how dare you! F-Father will be hearing of this!" The son of Wolfred said as he ran off.

Sir Anders shook his head. _Stupid boy._ Lord Wolfred valued his Knights, he wouldn't blindly follow the words of a blubbering child. However, he was still tasked with looking after the boy, so reluctantly, he decided to follow after him. "See you around, Shirou of Ashton Forest," he said as he left.

Arturia ran up to Shirou, a smile on her face. "I can't believe you beat a Knight!"

"Well, it sort of just happened," Shirou said as he returned Arturia's sword. He scratched at the back of his head. Winning wasn't really that much of a big deal for him. He was literally an adult in a child's body...With the added benefit of reinforcement to make up for his child body's limitations.

"Indeed, that was quite a performance young one."

Arturia froze as a calm hand placed itself on her shoulder. Turning her head, her teal coloured eyes met mirthful blue. The man wore full-plate-armour adorned with the colours blue and yellow around the edges. Save for his head, every other part of him was armoured as expected of a Knight.

"And who might this be, Arthur," Sir Ector asked as he raised a brow towards Shirou, the gesture moving a lock of brown hair over an eye. He soon fixed it with a brush of a hand.

Arturia furrowed her brows. What could she say? In the end, she decided to go with what she believed. What was Shirou to her? She mused, but the answer was evident. She stared at him and gave a small smile. He was different from the other children and was skilled with a blade, but to her, he was undoubtedly, "My friend, Shirou."

She liked the way the word rolled off her tongue. She had never had the liberty of calling anyone her friend since she spent most of her time in hiding like Shirou.

"Your friend who you neglected to tell me about." Sir Ector voiced his opinion.

Arturia pursed her lips and began to think on the spot. "He's Duke Ashton's son." She mirrored Sir Ander's previous words.

"Duke Ashton?" Sir Ector said surprised as he glanced at Shirou. "He was able to survive the assassination?"

"He was hidden away," Arturia supplied.

Sir Ector mulled over his thoughts, but ultimately agreed with Arturia's reasoning. He turned to Shirou. "It must have been hard, Shirou, living while everyone else died."

Shirou blanked, a distant memory of a boy walking through a city of fire surfacing within his mind. The screams, the cries of mercy, the wails of those who he could not save. He closed his eyes to force the images away.

"S-Sir Ector." Arturia elbowed Sir Ector as she noticed the look on Shirou's face.

"Oh, sorry sorry, I didn't mean to bring up bad memories." Sir Ector apologized. He then turned to Arturia. "Now for you."

"..." Arturia averted her gaze.

"Shirking your duties to your brother Kay, do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"...No." Arturia said.

Sir Ector sighed before giving Shirou a nod. "We will be on our way, Arthur here has earned the right for Kay's duties as proper."

"W-What, you want me to clean the stys! But but-" Sir Ector brought a finger over Arturia's mouth.

"Wouldn't be much of a punishment unless you don't like it. Don't think I don't know that you happen to like sharpening the swords." Sir Ector said before he turned to Shirou. "Well be on our way Shirou."

Shirou nodded his head and watched as Arturia and Sir Ector disappeared in the distance.

With Arturia, she held her head in her hands. She hated cleaning after the pigs. It was stinky and utterly gross, something unbefitting of a Knight in training like her. Besides, she didn't think the pigs liked her very much. Evident by how much extra shit was always lying around when she walked in. Ooooh she _hated_ those pigs.

"Arturia, you said the boy was a Squire?" Sir Ector asked, interrupting Arturia's thoughts.

"Yes," Arturia replied puzzled with the sudden question. There was no doubt in her mind that Shirou was a squire, it was impossible for him not to be.

"Then did you consider who will Knight him? It doesn't seem as if his apprenticed Knight escaped the Ashton assassination." Sir Ector said.

_Not a Knight._

_Not a Squire._

Arturia recalled her passing conversation with Shirou, and a look of dawning horror soon spread to her face as her insides churned and caused her to fidget. He couldn't be a Knight? The notion was daunting as it was heart-wrenching.

_Just a hunter._

The words were innocent enough if it wasn't for that sudden flicker of emotion that passed through Shirou's eyes. That longing look, as if he was staring at something that he was simply unable to have...

Arturia clenched her fists, her eyes downcast and overshadowed by her bangs. She was an idiot. How could she not have realized? The more she thought about it, the guiltier she became. Her eyes glanced down at her practice sword, and quickly she averted her gaze. She couldn't understand the heavy ebbing of her heart. Whenever she pictured Shirou, her friend and Squire in training, it hurt knowing the burden, the lie concealed behind his smiles. He was probably smiling for her sake, encouraging her to follow in her path of Knighthood when he alone could not.

If Sir Ector noticed anything in Arturia's behaviour, he didn't say a word, only laid a careful hand over her head.

It would be the quietest walk home that Sir Ector would ever remember.


	3. Chapter 3

"Trace on."

Shirou's magic circuits flared. He was within one of Ashton manor's numerous rooms, this one in particular illuminated by the light of a large overhead window. Like all the rooms, thick vegetation and the like grew on the floors and walls. Save for the ceiling, everything was covered in plants; notably flowers of various sorts that must have blown in early spring, and blossomed mid-summer. Why was he in this room? Well the answer was easy, it was his new workshop.

For all intents and purposes, Shirou had underestimated just how large Ashton manor was. On first glance, one could only see the thick plant growth over the brick walls, but on closer inspection, one could see just how much the vegetation hid the majority of the manor from view. Which is why his new work shop was located at the far end of the manor. Not only would one miss it with a glancing view, they would also miss the small bounded field surrounding it.

Shirou was a third-rate magus who couldn't hope to achieve a level of any higher, but that didn't mean he couldn't learn anything. Albeit, the magic he was able to learn was the lowest of the low for most magi; runes in particular, something that most prominent magi scoff at. They were simply a pattern of straight lines that when inscribed automatically realize mysteries accordingly with the meaning that they represent. In short, low maintenance. In this case, a combination of them created the bounded field around his new workshop.

A simple blade appeared in Shirou's hands. It was of steel make, however the hilt and pommel were made of lesser yet durable metal. He propped it against the table and watched for any outward signs of degradation present from the moment he projected an object of any kind. Surprisingly, this was not the case. Narrowing his eyes, he once again looked over the blade, his eyes, his structural analysis, capturing everything. Structural analysis wasn't exactly a mystery only he alone was capable of, just that he took it to a whole other level than most magi can give credit. After all, it was a basis for his higher forms of magecraft. More to the point however, he was unsurprised when his structural analysis once again obtained the same result. The blade was degrading, but the rate of which was astoundingly slow. It was similar to sand in an hourglass, except rather than a constant stream, it was more akin to small droplets.

Shirou furrowed his brows and decided to take things to the next level. How would a Noble Phantasm fair? His circuits flared in protest, but decades of constant use and the ambient magic in the air made the process several magnitudes easier. If Shirou had inspected his circuits further, he would have realized that they were healing. Perhaps due to the anomaly in front of him.

A copy of Avalon resided in his open right palm, the splendor and beauty of the sheath not lost despite it being an imitation of the one within his chest. Yet that was the point entirely, it shouldn't be anywhere near the level of the original which meant...!

After a quick realization, Shirou pulled out the original Avalon from within him. To say he was surprised would be an understatement. The sheath practically glowed with mots of golden light, the power around it, absurd.

Shirou closed his eyes, his thoughts racing. Had he done something? Had something happened to him at the wheat field? A flurry of questions and conclusions randomly entered his mind, yet no answer. Eventually, they all stopped the moment he realized the most important factor, _Arturia_. She was the original wielder of the sheath, Shirou's close proximity to her could explain everything, but he wouldn't be so fast to jump to conclusions. however, he was certain it was the case as it was in the fifth Grail War. Avalon had saved him numerous times, but through it all, Saber was there.

Shirou smiled ruefully as he placed the original Avalon back within him and focused on his projected Avalon; noting that like the projected blade, it too deteriorated at a lesser pace. Hmm, he mused. Cost efficiency and maintenance on his magecraft was significantly reduced in the era he was in... he could work with that. He traced other Noble Phantasms, but all had the same effect. However, Noble Phantasms of B-Rank and higher were still taxing on his magical reserves. At best he could probably make five? ten? twenty? There was much testing to be done in the era. Still though, he best hurry with his deductions to the changes in his magecraft, he still had someone he had to feed after all...

To say that Arturia liked his cooking was like saying the world ending was a mild occurrence, she utterly adored his cooking. There had once been a time she had personally requested that he make more food. In which case, said food would be delivered to Sir Ector and Kay to prove to them why Arturia no longer spent breakfast with them.

Tragically, the carrier pigeon, Arturia in this case, ended up eating all the food on the journey there. She had explained, not without embarrassment, that she had gotten tired and wanted a small snack, just a _tad_ bit. Unfortunately, Arturia reasoned, a wild deer appeared and snagged the rest of the food. However, it didn't help her case very much when her hands and cheeks still had little smidges of grease, even more so when her eyes looked expectantly up at him for more. He was spoiling her, he knew, but it didn't stop him, not one bit. She never did get around to explaining just how well Sir Ector and Kay liked his food if at all...

Shirou smiled at the memory as Efret took its place by his right shoulder. Even now he didn't know if the phantasmal beast was male or female, 'it' would suffice for now. Speaking of Efret, it acted more as a family pet than it did a phantasmal beast, not harming any people, or animal besides rodents. Then again, Shirou quite liked that. On further note, he had taken to watching Efret to understand why it seemed so attached to him.

" _Play?_ " A voice spoke in Shirou's mind.

Shirou shook his head. "Sorry Efret, I have to go meet with someone." He said as he gently goaded Efret off his shoulder. Glancing at a projected clock, half-an-hour was all he had left to make it back to the borders of Ashton Forest where he regularly encountered Arturia. He had to go now if didn't want to be late.

Swiftly, he dismissed his projections, grabbed his clothing, and was soon out the rather large fornt door. Navigating to the back yard, near the numerous empyt pens, he went towards the only one that held animals, the chickens. He grabbed a couple eggs, and was soon on his way, taking in mind the list of the days objectives.

Meanwhile, Efret tilted its head as it watched Shirou leave the manor. _Play? Meet?..._

* * *

Arturia fidgeted as she waited for Shirou. She was wearing an over sized brown tunic, that reached past her waist. Luckily, her blue trousers and black leggings were more to her size, however she still looked a tad top-heavy. Be that as it may, the small grey cloak over her shoulders was enough to hide it.

Sighing, Arturia once again glanced around the clearing. Nothing. She contemplated practicing with her sword, but quite frankly, ever since she had found out about Shirou's secret it just felt wrong. What if he arrived in the middle of her training? What would his expression be? Arturia pursed her lips, she would be a bad friend if she did that. Over the past couple weeks, she had already determined for herself not to ask for his help in swordsmanship, something made easier when she spent most of her time hunting with Shirou. Using one of his bows was a novelty experience for her, then again, she would never be as good as Shirou was. Just yesterday she helped catch a deer, the price of the pelt being split evenly between her and Shirou. More to the point however, it was harder and harder not to ask Shirou for help with swordsmanship; she could still picture the image of his form as he spared with Sir Anders.

_Square your shoulders more when you're striking._

Just that one tip alone had Arturia improving by leaps and bounds. Granted, she probably would have eventually realized the flaw herself, but the fact that Shirou could so easily point it out gave credit to his skill with a blade. He would make a great teacher, one who could easily point out her flaws and correct them. Yet Arturia frowned. She was having bad thoughts, putting her progress with a sword over Shirou's feelings. If she did ask him, she would be no better than the pigs in Sir Ector's sty's, and she _hated_ those pigs.

A rustle in the woods, a flicker of an eye.

"Sorry I'm late," Shirou said as he entered the small forest clearing. "I had to make sure I had enough of these for you to bring home." He took out a leather pouch and revealed the chicken eggs as he motioned towards the two hares tied around his waist. "This time for sure right? No more rampant deers, meandering Goblins, or Trolls beneath bridges?" He stated, listing off Arturia's previous excuses.

"I'll be careful. The G-Goblins were lucky last time," Arturia said as she blushed and turned her face away.

Shirou smiled knowingly within Arturia's peripherals, her ears beginning to redden.

"T-Then I'll prove it, y-you can come with me today if you want!" Arturia stuttered out as she turned to face Shirou having regained her bearings.

"To your secret home?"

"Y-Yeah," Arturia meakly looked away from Shirou's gaze before turning back haughtily. "But that means you have to take me to your home..."

Shirou laughed, startling Arturia. Her reasoning was just so childish that he couldn't help it. It was the same reasoning as, you took my cookie, so I take yours.

Arturia glared.

"Alright alright, I'll take you after," Shirou said mirthfully. "For now, we still have some time before I make breakfast." Arturia glanced at her sword, and Shirou caught the movement. He smiled, he already knew what she wanted, but she didn't seem as if she would ask. He didn't know why she wouldn't ask, but maybe it was part of her honour. Therefore, it fell upon him to ask instead. "There's no time to go hunting, so do you want to spar?"

Arturia's eyes brightened. She didn't have to feel bad about asking Shirou to train with her. He was the one who asked. "S-Sure!" She said eagerly.

"Alright, bring out your sword and lets practice," Shirou said as he picked up a long slender twig from the ground and reinforced it.

"You're using a twig?" Arturia asked in befuddlement, her cheeks puffing up. Was he making fun of her?

"Yes," Shirou said simply before he grinned. "A strong twig."

Yeah, he was definitely making fun of her. Arturia fumed, but Shirou didn't relent. Well fine then, she wouldn't listen to him and make him take things seriously. And the first thing she had to do was break that _twig_. By then he'll realize his folly and use a real sword.

"The lesson today is not to underestimate your opponent," Shirou said slowly as he waved the twig in front of Arturia's eyes. She didn't seem as if she was paying any attention to his words. He sighed, guess she'll have to learn the hard way, but perhaps a little warning. "That means Arturia...Don't underestimate the twig." Shirou paused for emphasis. "I hope you understand. I'm ready when you are."

Arturia just shook her head in exasperation. It was a _twig_.

"Have at thee!" Arturia yelled as she went on the attack, coming in with an overhead slash. Her timing was perfect and strong, well executed even...If it wasn't so blatantly aimed at the twig. Unfortunately, the twig didn't break as expected, but rather caught her sword in a few of its small unbroken branches. Startled with the turn of events, she tried to fall back, but her sword wouldn't budge. Turning her head, her wide eyes met Shirou's exasperated gaze. Her face began to heat up in embarrassment.

Shirou disarmed Arturia with a brush of the twig, watching her face contort in disbelief. He stepped forward, past her shaken guard and raised a fist.

Arturia flinched, her eyes closing as she raised her arms to block. She was shaking, waiting for Shirou's blow to land...

Shirou sighed as he stared at Arturia. She was probably expecting him to hit her, and for all intents and purposes he should, she was being stupid after all. However, watching her trembling made it seem like he was bullying her. Arturia peaked open a lone eye, but quickly closed it when she saw he still had his fist raised. He sighed once again as he shook his head, and promptly knocked aside her arms before flicking her on the forehead. _Hard_.

"Idiot," Shirou reprimanded as Arturia rubbed peevishly at her forehead. "That could have been your life."

"B-But it was a twig..." Arturia trailed off indignantly. Her head still hurt at the spot Shirou flicked.

"A magic twig," Shirou responded as he put a dent into a tree with the twig.

Arturia's eyes widened. "T-That's cheating!"

"Didn't I tell you it was a strong twig?"

"...Yes."

"Did you listen?"

"...No."

"So how was I cheating?"

"..."

"Point proven," Shirou said as he motioned for Arturia to start again. Reluctantly, she did, keeping a wary eye on the lone twig. She struck and was blocked, the process repeating until she noticed that Shirou's lower guard was lacking.

Shirou smiled internally. He had been blocking all of Arturia's high blows and leaving faint openings by his lower guard. It was his hope that Arturia would notice and capitalize on it, one that she didn't disappoint. In battle, more than anything, it's important to keep a steady eye on the habits of your opponent. A faint twitch of a finger, a tensing of the legs, all could be signs of the opponent's next move. In his case, he slackened his arm whenever he blocked low, losing a majority of his blocking strength. Therefore, a weak lower guard. He was happy that Arturia could remain observant in battle.

Arturia struck low again, and Shirou allowed her to break his guard and position herself for a well earned blow.

"Got you!" Arturia yelled as she struck forward, the clatter of her feet resounding throughout the bright clearing.

CAAW!

Arturia yelped in surprise and stopped her attack as her eyes darted towards the unexpected noise. Efret landed between Arturia and Shirou, its wings extended as its monochromatic eyes locked onto Arturia's. Its silver eye seemed to pierce straight through her as its auburn eye regarded her curiously. It stood at almost half of Arturia's thighs, roughly a-foot-and-a-half tall.

"A-A beast!" Arturia waved her sword in front of her. She had never seen anything like Efret. It appeared to be a hawk with the sleekest of brown feathers, but but...it was _glowing_. Indeed, it had a pale blue aura covering it from head to talon. _Ghost hawk, but it can't be!_ It moved towards her, regarding her quietly as it puffed its chest out. "S-Stay back, I-I taste bad!" She yelled while stepping back. Three steps, four... "I-I won't eat bird again- only chicken!"

Efret continued walking forward as Arturia's eyes were drawn to Efret's long and sharp talons digging into the ground. She, in no way wanted to fight the thing at the moment; she was still in her training as a Squire! Efret raised its wings; it was going to pounce! Oh nonononnonoo. Arturia's eyes dilated as her face paled, yet she stood fast. I-If she had to die, then it wouldn't be without a fight. She gulped in trepidation.

"Efret?" Shirou said confused. He didn't recall telling Efret to stay in the mansion, but this was the first time Efret had ever gone out looking for him.

Efret stopped upon hearing Shirou's voice, causing Arturia to fall on her bottom and sigh in relief. Walking to Shirou, Efret tilted its head and stared at him. _"Play? Meet?"_

Shirou rubbed at his forehead. It was his fault. He supposed he wasn't specific enough, or just didn't take the time to make sure Efret understood him before he left the house.

"Sorry Efret, but I guess it's time I began making food. Why don't you play with my friend for now," Shirou said sheepishly. He knew that Efret wouldn't hurt Arturia, at least if Efret knew she was his friend. Shirou turned to a shocked Arturia. "It seems we'll have to cut that training period short. I'll just be getting on to making brunch." He said as he promptly left to where he left the food.

Efret tilted its head slowly as it registered what Shirou had said. Efret turned towards Arturia. _Friend_? It stored it to memory. Definitely friend.

Arturia's face drained of colour. Good god what did Shirou just suggest! Slowly she began to back away. _No sudden movements. No sudden movements._ She didn't know how Efret would react to anything. Her hands gripped her sword tightly, it was the only thing between her, and the _beast_. For a moment, they both just stared at each other, in the next-

"S-Shirou- It's tasting me!" Arturia yelled. Efret was sitting on top of her, somehow pinning her to the ground as it playfully licked at her cheeks. Her sword was long forgotten, lodged upright into the ground. "Q-Quickly before it eats me! Help!"

Shirou smiled at Efret and Arturia, it seemed that they were getting along. Hell, the fact that a phantasmal beast wasn't mauling one's brains out was enough of a friendly indicator.

It didn't take long for Shirou to finish cooking, he had enough practice every morning. "Food's ready." He called.

"...Oh...Great." Arturia said in monotone. Her face was hollow, a blank slate that gazed absently at Shirou. It was imperfect, but the fact that she could block out her emotions so well at her age agitated Shirou.

Shirou approached. "Stop that," he said as he held a chicken leg under Arturia's nose. Her eyes glanced at it, before she sniffed, then sniffed again, her facial features twitching. Shirou smiled wryly as Arturia snatched the leg from his hands and began eating it.

"Y-You left me to the wolves!" Arturia screamed as the light soon came back to her eyes. She was always up for food, so it was expected that she made a quick recovery.

Shirou raised a brow. "Efret was only playing with you," he reasoned. "He meant no harm, right Efret?"

Efret turned to Arturia. It had gotten off of her as soon as Shirou approached. _"Friend,"_ It spoke.

"It talks!?" Arturia said, almost forgetting about the chicken leg in her hand.

"See, Efret wouldn't have harmed you." Shirou laid down the food he had made on a large parchment over the grass. "However, you'll get into a lot of trouble in the future if you hide your emotions like that again- Are you even listening?"

"Yeah yeah," Arturia said as she reached out for more food.

"I mean it Arturia," Shirou said seriously. "Do it again...And no more _food_. At least not from me."

Arturia gasped. No more food from Shirou? Was the world ending?! "I won't do it again," she said promptly.

Shirou grinned. "As long as you understand."

They all sat in relative silence as they ate. Shirou would at times pick off chunks of food and feed Efret. There was a calming sort of silence, like the simple pleasant humm of a morning meal. Denotatively, it was, but it was the thought that counts.

"That's enough," Shirou said suddenly as he swatted Arturia's hand away, shocking her out of her food induced daze. "If you keep eating, there won't be anything left to bring. You can eat more when we get to your home"

"...I don't eat that much," Arturia said indignantly as she crossed her arms. "I eat _just_ enough."

 _"Enough?"_ Efret furrowed his brows.

Shirou shook his head before turning too Efret. "We're going to leave now, so I need you to go home okay?" He said.

Efret nodded and took off into the sky. Shirou would would have to play with Efret later for listening to him so well. He turned to Arturia as he gathered up the food. "Well, let's get going before the food gets cold."

* * *

The town of Bristol was very rarely active in the morning, most people sleeping in after a hard day of work in the fields. Today was not the case. Residents were lively moving and crowding around an unlikely event. It was probably why so many of them were up in the morning.

"A contest?" Arturia spoke confused. This had never happened before. Contests were mainly for the nobility and those who could afford to enter. Therefore, why would a contest be held in the center market of Bristol, an area inhabited by mostly peasants and serfs? It was a contest in which there was no entrance fee no less.

Shirou listened to the announcer of the contest with his ears before he perked up. "The winner of the contest wins a male and female calf." He said. Normally, he wouldn't be interested in joining contests, but although he knew Arturia would never complain about his food, he himself would complain about the variety. There were many wonders of food and pastry incomplete without milk. Dairy to be precise. Besides, he was already looking to fill up the empty pens at Ashton manor.

"You plan on entering?" Arturia asked.

"Yup. They don't seem to have an age requirement." Shirou glanced cheerfully at Arturia. "And who ever said a kid can't beat an adult."

"Well, you'll have your work cut out for you," Arturia said. Shirou raised a brow in response. "You're going to have to best the announcer's champion archer, Gerrard."

"...And knowing how contests work, Gerrard must be quite skilled." Shirou deduced. Either way, he was still going to participate. He turned his gaze to Arturia. "Then wish me luck."

Arturia nodded her head and watched as Shirou registered for the contest. He had to squeeze through the growing crowd, but due to his small stature, he eventually made it through. The announcer had gazed skeptically at him, but relented when he remembered that all ages were allowed to participate.

"You sure you're in the right place red?" Gerrard asked Shirou. He wasn't much of a tall man, nor was he truly eye catching. Then again it was a good trait to have as an archer, less enemies to spot you. He had a thin scruffy beard that he placed a hand under as he stared thoughtfully at Shirou with his brown eyes. It wasn't everyday that he would have to compete with a kid; hell, it was a novelty experience. If the boy was going to participate, he was either really skilled, or down right stupid. However, it was better not to insult the nobility.

"Yeah I'm sure, but red?" Shirou asked.

"Well ya, red hair, red coat-did I miss anything?" Gerrard said as he removed his hand from his beard and relaxed a bit. He smiled, his thin lips and rugid jaw line stretched wide.

"No. So how exactly do I win this contest?" Shirou asked. "Do I just beat you?"

Gerrard laughed. "Get in line red, look how many challengers I have." He gestured with an arm to the crowd. "Gotta limit the competition first. This is what I get for having a free contest and healthy calves on the line."

Shirou's eyes glanced to the calves; they were eating at the announcers decorated cloak. "Healthy calves indeed," he said.

Gerrard followed Shirou's gaze and smiled knowingly. He bent over to Shirou and whispered into his ear. "I trained e'm to do that. Damn guy's a stuck up prick."

Shirou raised a brow. Gerrard did not elaborate any further, choosing instead to laugh his ass off as a calf made off with the announcer's wig. Soon regaining his bearings, Gerrrard turned to Shirou. "Well, good luck red. Competition's starting," he said as he began to walk off. "I'll be standing over there to face the winner."

Shirou blinked as the crowd of participants pushed him along. He didn't really have much choice in the matter as the excitement of the participants grew. The contest would only start when all applicants had taken a bow and six arrows from a small rack by a lengthy field. Target boards were set up over the field at varying distances, the farthest of which had a majority of participants squinting their eyes. No matter how Shirou looked at it, it was a contest not meant to be won, even more so when most of the participants were peasants and serfs. Unfortunately, Shirou didn't belong in either category.

While a majority of participants were squinting at the farthest targets, Shirou just calmly analyzed a proper trajectory. The distance was not a problem for him whatsoever. He had dealt with farther distances and harsher conditions. Nothing could really top shooting at Berserker in the woods of Einzbern castle Fuyuki- Not that he would want a repeat of a similar event.

Contestants were told that they would be participating in small groups of six to keep track of who shot which arrow. Therefore, twelve groups were created and numbered in the order of who will shoot first. Shirou was assigned to the twelfth group, the last group. The top six who accurately shot the farthest targets would compete against Gerrard in a different competition.

As Shirou expected, most participants chose to use their six arrows to shoot at targets they knew they would hit. After all, no one was expecting anyone to hit at the farthest targets. Those that were able to shoot just a bit farther than the rest qualified for the next round, that is; until Shirou took to the field and knocked a single arrow. His form was different from the rest, most adopting a rather unorthodox form that although comfortable could never be accurate. He stood straight, his back slightly arched at the top as he aimed with his bow.

Gerrard locked his gaze over Shirou. He knew that Shirou was different from the common rabble participating around him, but he didn't expect such a degree of aptitude for the bow. Sure he was the son of a Nobleman, his colours all but proved it, but most children of Nobleman were arrogant sods and snobs at best. It didn't need to be said that they never truly took their training seriously, not when all of life's leisures were within their grasp. Shirou didn't appear to fit that description, he reminded him more of himself if anything, but that would imply that he was a Bastard's son. Something of which he was definitely not. His eyes narrowed as he followed Shirou's line of site. The boy was aiming at the farthest targets, that admittedly, even _he_ would have trouble striking.

It was the moment of truth as Shirou shot his arrow in a wide arc, the arm strength necessary for such an action, not lost on Gerrard. The arrow soared high, even the damnable air resistance seemed to have no effect on it. After reaching the apex of its flight, the arrow descended.

Gerrard whistled as the arrow struck true- straight into the farthest target board of ceder. Was it luck? Either way, the boy had achieved a feat impossible for his age. His eyes flickered to the radiant expression of a blond child. The boy's friend perhaps? Maybe lover, he looked too beautiful to be a boy? He shook his head, they were to young to have such thoughts, maybe when they were twelve and of marriageable age. For now, kids should simply remain kids. Talented kids perhaps, but still kids.

Shirou knocked his second arrow and promptly fired. It struck the same board, at the very same spot, piercing through the shaft of the previous arrow. Gerrard had no more disillusions, luck had nothing to do with the successful strike. It was all _skill_. He ran a hand through his hair, a frown over his face. Well fuck, he was going to lose to a kid...

Shirou didn't fire a third arrow, but rather put the rest away for a better use. It was unquestionable who would win the contests, and even those who had qualified hung up the white flag. The competition was now only between Shirou and Gerrard.

"Well, what now? Do we move onto the next competition?" Shirou asked the gaping announcer. Gerrard grinned, the look definitely suited the announcer, but there were more pressing matters to attend to. He walked to Shirou and whispered into his ear.

"No red. From what I've seen, there's no point in embarrassing myself in front of the crowd." Gerrard turned to the announcer. "Ya here that Poodle's, the lad's won. I appear to have eaten poison this morning- Ah...I'm too nauseous to compete!" He yelled, more to get the crowd to believe he wasn't a coward.

"Then go die, and my name isn't Poodle's!" The announcer yelled. "It's _Charles_ of-"

"Dead Sacs! The pain."

"Charles of Dead Sacs?" Arturia asked confused. She had just walked up to stand beside Shirou and had only heard snippets of the conversation.

"N-No! It's-"

"Yeah, he's Chalres of Dead Sacs; his parents weren't right in the head." Gerrard interrupted. "Oh my stomach, I got to go! See you later red!" Gerrard hobbled off as the announcer gave the ropes of the calves to Shirou and chased after a laughing Gerrard.

Shirou and Arturia sweat dropped, but were soon on their way when the calves began to sniff at Arturia's tunic. _Bad calves..._

* * *

After the contest, it didn't take long to reach Arturia's home. It was made of cobblestone, the central pillars made out of fragments of marble. Unlike the other homes of Bristol, Arturia's home was quite large. Not as large as Ashton manor, but far larger than any other house. The roof itself was not made out of thatch, but of wood and a type of insulator to keep the heat in.

Arturia ran ahead of Shirou and pulled open the front door. Unsure of how to proceed, Shirou walked his newly won calves to the small porch by the arched window, and tethered them to a rail. He stood awkwardly in front of the house, not sure if he should step in or not. In the end, he didn't have a choice as Arturia reemerged and dragged him in by the hand; leading him into a room in which he saw Sir Ector and another man, a teenager really, sitting on feather-stuffed couches.

Arturia let go of Shirou's hand and took a seat by Sir Ector, motioning for Shirou to sit across from her. He complied after greeting Sir Ector and the now formally introduced, brother Kay. He was probably just barely eighteen, and his army cut only made him look younger. Like most residents of Bristol, and probably the kingdom, Kay had brown hair. However, his was darker than most. His black eyes offseted the light blue tunic and brown leggings in which he wore, but strangely, it seemed to suit him.

"So you brought him at last," Sir Ector said mirthfully as he reached a hand and patted Arturia's head. Arturia became flustered as her face contorted in frustration. _Couldn't Sir Ector see that Shirou was watching?_ She pouted as she tried to shake Sir Ector's hand off, but failed to do so. Her efforts begun anew as her anger grew. Sir Ector didn't seem to care as he continued talking.

"I didn't think you ever would, but I'm proud-"

"-Proud that you won," Kay cut Sir Ector off. "Guess this means you want me to take a look at Shirou here. He'll need it."

Shirou's first impression of Kay, was that he was rather straight forward, a common trait of a braggart. Although, he would hold his opinion to himself.

Arturia paused and looked at Kay as she finally got Sir Ector's hand off, _what?_ She looked puzzled. Had Sir Ector and Kay plotted something behind her back? They even involved Shirou no less?! Be that as it may, Arturia's pause was an unfortunate error as Sir Ector's _devil_ of a hand once again found its way atop her head. Her gaze met Shirou's. He turned his face away, no doubt losing his opinion of her. Her face flushed as she tried to sputter out an excuse at the same time she tried to remove Sir Ector's hand. Again it didn't work. _S-Sir Ector!_ She whimpered internally; she was losing face in front of Shirou...

"Now now, you can't possibly believe that that bet had everything to do with this. Little Arthur here had never once considered making a friend," Sir Ector said as he released Arturia. She bolted away from him to the opposite side of the room. Sir Ector smiled wryly.

"True enough. It was always training this, or training that," Kay said. "I didn't want to say this, but he was kind of a loner-"

"Hey!" Arturia yelled indignantly.

"-Who had death battles with the pigs in the stys. Well, if throwing their shit at them could count as a death battle."

Slowly, Shirou turned his incredulous gaze on Arturia. What? No really _what_?

"...N-Not true." Arturia stuttered. Her cheeks were tinted a rosy red and she was unable to meet Shirou's gaze. Although, she began to glare at Kay instead. Her gaze conveying her thoughts, _not another word_. It wasn't as if she started the fight with the pigs, it was always _them_. And even still, that event happened when she was five.

Silence as Arturia glared at her family. They had both embarrassed her the moment Shirou entered the room. Couldn't they understand she wanted to look good in Shirou's eyes? Why were they doing this to her?! Oh they would pay, of that she would make sure. She didn't say a word, her gaze falling over Kay, to Sir Ector, and back to Kay. Oh she had ideas, _many_ ideas.

"Uhm," Shirou began to break the awkward silence. "What was it that you were talking about, Sir Ector? The thing involving Kay and I?"

"Oh, glad you asked," Sir Ector said as he stood up and motioned to Kay. "Just follow Kay, he'll explain everything."

"You heard the man. Let's go," Kay said as he stood up and left, signaling Shirou to follow with his eyes. He was heading towards the backyard.

Shirou followed after leaving behind the food he brought. He had to admit, he was curious about what would happen.

Meanwhile, Arturia slowly walked up to sir Ector and asked, "What's going on?"

Sir Ector sighed as he rested a hand on the back of his head. Quite frankly, he didn't like the depressed look in Arturia's eyes lately, and he knew the cause. She had been acting differently ever since the beginning of Summer. At that point, he was actually quite happy for her. He saw within her the happiness of childhood as she begun to act a little bit more her age. The way her teal coloured eyes would light up whenever she thought she snuck off in the morning, or the way she beamed when she disarmed Kay, they were all endearing to Sir Ector. All that he had become accustomed to from Arturia was training and more training for the day of the supposed prophecy. It was always, 'only a king can save a ruined country headed for death,' from her. Therefore, he quite liked the change of events...up until she learned of Shirou's inability to become a Knight.

"Well, you see, I _may_ just know a way that Shirou can become a Knight." Sir Ector said.

"R-Really! But he doesn't have his apprenticed Knight..."

"There's more than one way to become a Knight."

Sir Ector knelt beside Arturia and whispered into her ear. "I can do that?" She asked, her eyebrows furrowing.

"Of course you can. For the time being, I've asked Kay to test Shirou's aptitude. He's still a child, and even _he_ should need his own training."

"Then why Kay? He's just going to lose."

"Lose? Sure you've disarmed Kay, but you haven't actually beaten him either. He's a versatile one- until the time he flailed like a chicken, that's when I knock him over the head," Sir Ector said ruefully. "Besides, my eyes are well enough to know that Kay is stronger than Sir Anders; he just doesn't put much effort unless he's losing and-"

"I yield!" Kay's voice sounded.

"-that...hasn't happened before."

Arturia smirked. If she couldn't defeat Shirou, then Kay shouldn't be able to either. If he had, she would of forced Shirou to train with her until they both defeated him. "You were saying, Sir Ector?"

"I'll have to double the lazy ass's training." Sir Ector muttered as he walked over to the backyard. "The point was to assess Shirou and teach him the humility of losing to a senior, not inflating his ego." For all Sir Ector knew from experience, the more a Squire won in battle, the more likely it was that he would one day underestimate his opponent. Arturia was different, he raised her after all, but he didn't quite know Shirou very well yet.

Arturia raced past Sir Ector to arrive at the backyard first. And then, and then she began _laughing_. Laughing so hard, her grin seemed to spread throughout her entire face.

"S-Shut up and help me!" Kay yelled. He was hanging by a noose around his foot over the small well. Now that Arturia thought about it, she was the one who left the noose for the water-bucket open when she left earlier in the morning. She stopped laughing. Even still, how he got stuck hanging by the well was a mystery even to her. Seeing her confusion, Shirou decided to speak up.

"His foot got caught in the noose, and then a horse pushed him into the well. Friend of yours?"

The horse Shirou was talking about was quite small, not even an adult. It walked up to Arturia and nuzzled her. Arturia began to pat its head. "This is the horse Merlin gave me. I haven't decided on a name yet, but she seems to dislike Kay."

"I hate the damn thing too!" Kay yelled before he turned to Shirou. "I yielded already so help me up."

Nodding his head, Shirou made his way over to Kay, and pulled with reinforced strength. He went swinging out under the well, and fell into the dirt. Kay turned his head up, only to gaze reproachfully at Sir Ector's glare. "...We'll talk later." Sir Ector said.

Five minutes passed as everyone gathered over to the dining table in the house. The food Shirou had brought was laid out for everyone to eat, Arturia being the first to take a seat. Everyone sat in chairs and began eating. Upon Sir Ector and Kays' first bites, they realized something. _Arturia was a selfish girl_. She had been eating such food for weeks, and only _now_ did she bring some home? Sir Ector took note to place her on sty duty again, god knows she loved it. Family should always come before gluttony. It didn't help Arturia's case very much when she began to fuel the fire.

"I told you it was good. You should thank me for asking Shirou to make some for you," Arturia said smugly to Sir Ector, her chest puffed out.

"I did make some for them, starting two-weeks ago. You were the one who said you were going to bring it home." Shirou chided Arturia. Sir Ector raised a brow towards Arturia as Kay stiffened before relaxing.

"Not important." Arturia said quickly as she then turned to Kay as he took his last bite of food. "So?" She asked. She wanted to know what Kay thought of Shirou's food.

"So?" Kay mirrored slowly as he glanced at Arturia. He smirked. "Goblins and Trolls huh?"

Arturia blanked, Shirou and Sir Ector laughed. Kay ate the remaining food on Arturia's plate.

Kay: 1, Arturia: 0

* * *

Lord Wolfred was the chief and governor of Bristol. It was a peaceful town with little to no quarrels with its surrounding neighbors. However, the peace would be broken as the Saxon armies continue their skirmish throughout the Western lands of Britain. They were scattered once, fighting in limited mercenary groups that did little more than dent any fortress walls. However, that all changed when the Saxons banded together.

Yet the bloody Saxons had never done so before! No, the probability of a military leader was high, and he was a damn good one. By the organization of the coming Saxons, they were dividing into large armies before moving across the mainland. It would only be a matter of time before they could establish a foot hold in the country. The Old King Natanleod and his army of five thousand could _only_ hold off the barbarians for so long. Lord Wolfred would best prepare for dire circumstances. This matter was far more troubling than the pirates of southern Ireland- to that matter he had already set up fortifications to deal with it.

For now...

Sir Wolfred, as he's more commonly known by, turned to the out of breath attendant beside him. He allowed the man a couple moments to regain his bearings before he asked what was wrong.

"Someone won the contest?" Sir Wolfred said in befuddlement. "It shouldn't be possible. Even the best bowmen I know could not accomplish such a feat, and even then they would readily admit that it was due to luck." Sir Wolfred frowned. "A boy? You're telling me that a wee lad who has seen at most ten summers defeated the best archer in Bristol?"

"Yes sir," The attendant said slowly. "There's talk that he may even be da best in the Kingdom. Tis quite frightening ta imagine an older version of him."

Sir Wolfred furrowed his brows. The contest was designed to assess a group of archers and prepare then for the coming Saxons. It was a strategy to weed out any potential archers within the town. To think a child had won..

"Keep me updated on this Shirou Emiya. Better yet, find out all you can about the boy," Sir Wolfred said. Potential as described shouldn't be wasted because the boy was a peasant, rather Sir Wolfred would rather put it to use. War medals far outweighed the meagerness of the class systems.

"I have nothing to say about the first order," A voice began. A figure pushed off from the wall adjacent to the Knight's barracks. It was Sir Anders, his helmet removed revealing his long blond hair tied down into a ponytail. His brown eyes flashed in knowing. He had not expected the kid he sparred with to be a bowman, not with the sword skills that were displayed. However, this could be interesting. He pushed past the other Knights and attendants until he stood before Sir Wolfred. "As for the second order, I may know a thing or two about the boy."

"Well spit it out then," Sir Wolfred said impatiently. He had had enough talking and doing nothing for the day. As far as he was concerned, he had to prepare for the coming Saxons. As a Lord who governs his people, it is his responsibility to protect their well beings. He was a Noble of Britain, he would not allow any uncivilized Saxon brutes to breach his domain even if the odds were bleak.

"No need to rush," Sir Anders said coolly, brushing back his bangs. Sir Wolfred glared. "Fine fine. Do you all remember the Old Ashtons, the secretive bunch?"

"I do. They were all oddly named and had the most peculiar pairs of eyes. The kind that seemed to look right through you." Sir Wolfred said. It was always unnerving whenever he spoke with the late Duke Ashton. He swore the man knew everything about you from just a mere glance. Always those golden-brown coloured eyes...They were mesmerizing, especially on Lady Ashton. For all his insecurities around Duke Ashton, there was one thing he knew for sure however, they were definitely good people. "But if there's one thing we all know, they were all good people, and damn good on the battlefield."

"That I agree," Sir Anders said with a huff. "I've had experience you see. It felt like everything you could possibly do is already known before the action is done. Those eyes that look and see right through every action... quite frightening."

"And how would you know? The Ashton Assassination occured when you were but a wee lad."

Sir Anders scratched his head. "Although a tad shameful to admit, I lost a spar quite recently- shut up all of you!" Sir Anders abruptly turned to the other Knights in the room. The one's in which he knew would laugh at him for it. Sir Wolfred let out a mirthful grin, he liked it when it was lively. "Although I lost, I still hold to the fact that it was because I did not take the boy seriously until he dented my armour with a _wooden sword_. It must have been magic I tell you. Those rumours about the Ashton's and magic must be true."

"You lost to a boy?" Sir Wolfred said, picking out the most relevant of the information Sir Anders stated. Although there were rumours about the Ashton's and magic, it was still wholly speculation. Therefore, it was more important to adress the more concrete observations. Somehow, he just knew where this was going.

"Yes. To Shirou Emiya of _the_ _Ashton's_."


	4. Chapter 4

_Beware the beasts of the Blood Packs. Beware their gaze, beware their strength...oh little child lost in light, this monster shall deliver thee from thy plight. A monster of man, a bewitcher of souls...little little child can you hear it? The sound of the beast of old._

_-The final rant of the mad woman, Maridale Gobsfree._

They say a monster once terrorized the Western country side in the town of Argale. It did not matter whether you were behind doors, locks, or gates, nothing could stop it if it wanted to kill. As a terrorizor of the country folk, it not only feasted on their live stock, but left behind its ilk. Thus they said to burn the bodies and spread the ash to the wind...Thus they said... _Thus they said_. Yet no one _listened_.

Now...Now it was too late. From the dead they rose, eyes murky and without purpose. Blood was their calling. All that really mattered was _death. Death everywhere._ Nothing was spared, not the cattle, not the homes, not the people, and not even the children.

_The Blood Pack spares no one._

Argale was destroyed, the area left undisturbed for decades, the beasts of the Blood Packs, gone and forgotten from the world. Years later, new settlers arrived. New buildings of cobblestone and thatch erected themselves as the settlement became a town. The town of Bristol.

* * *

Arturia was on an errand for Sir Ector. Unfortunately, it didn't involve selling the pigs, or cattle for a pair of magic beans. Now she knew it was childish to think of such things, but it entertained her better than walking across town for wood and a pail of nails. Her brow twitched in irritation. If Kay called her a child for fighting with the pigs, then he was a bigger child for messing with her newly named horse, Llamrei. Sure they didn't get along, and sure Llamrei may have kicked him into the well again, but that doesn't mean Kay should have broken Llamrei's stall. Albeit, it was after Llamrei soiled his armour, and took his share of Shirou's food.

She sighed, she would rather be with Shirou then be on an errand that was Kay's fault. Then again, she had already told Shirou she couldn't make it today...What a waste. She lamented her misfortune; there were better things she could have been doing.

Shirou had just taken her to his home a couple weeks ago, and it was the oldest thing she had ever seen. Not a soul seemed to live within the manor, old tile and brick erroding away to creeping vegetation. It was sad. She truly felt for Shirou. She finally understood why Shirou had never brought her there before. The isolation, the emptiness, she couldn't comprehend how Shirou had lived with it for so long. How would she react knowing that she was the only one to live? How would she feel living within a home where everything was a source of fond memories? Memories she knew all too well would bring her pain. It wasn't something that Shirou should handle alone, therefore she had decided that she would ease his burden. If staying by him helps, then so be it.

She walked a couple paces forward until her eyes widened as she caught a glimpse of red in the crowd.

"Oh, it's you!" A voice called out before Arturia could.

Shirou turned to see who had addressed him, it was the girl he had helped several weeks earlier. He wasn't ever expecting to meet up with her again, and definitely not when he was in town to sell his latest catch: a fox and a hare pelt.

Arturia held her tongue as she watched the girl approach Shirou.

"Hi, you're that girl from before," Shirou said slowly before he smiled. "I hope the extra coins helped."

The girl smiled back as she smoothed the wrinkles of her clothes. They weren't rags this time, but a simple brown one-piece. "They did actually. Papa was able to buy a whole new hen for the rooster for the farm." The girl stood straight and brushed back a lock of her blond hair. "I'm Emily by the way." She introduced herself.

"Shirou," Shirou said. "You run a farm?" He soon asked.

"Yeah, near the Smithy's"

Shirou furrowed his brows in contemplation. "Would you happen to know how to raise two calves?" He eventually asked. Sure he won two calves from the contest, and sure he was doing a good job keeping them alive, but he didn't exactly know how to raise them.

Emily's eyes widened. Never before did she expect a noble to care for their own livestock. That was always the job of the serfs, or peasants like her. "Y-Yes I do," she stuttered out. "B-But I'm not the best. You'd have to go ask my dad or something."

"I'd be happy to. Are you free now? Or should I come at another time?"

"Ah uhm- I'm free now." Emily decided. She shouldn't have much difficulty convincing her father anyway.

"Then if you'd lead the way."

Arturia stared as Shirou and Emily walked off, and then stared a little longer. What just happened? For a moment, she contemplated the small bout of irrational panic that welled up from within her as she noticed Emily smiling at Shirou and standing by his side. The image of herself overlapped with Emily, and she subconsciously began to frown. Whether it was because Emily was taking her place, or her frustration at Kay, she didn't really know, but her mood was not fairing well. Not at all. But who was _she_ to stop Shirou from making new friends with a pretty girl? It's not like she cared that Shirou saw her as a boy...Her mood darkened further.

At this point, not even the Knights of Wolfred who had been patrolling the streets for a certain boy dared to approach Arturia. Her gaze was frosty, her mouth unconsciously set into weird combination of a frown and a sneer. Luckily, she had neared the market area selling the required wood and nails. All she wanted to do was get back home and train. She could meet up with Shirou again tomorrow and he damn better well cook her a feast. A feast! Maybe then she could even give him hints about her gender. She seriously began to ponder the thought.

As she went to buy the wood and a pail of nails, she couldn't help but eye the jug of milk on sale from the opposite vendor...

* * *

Staring out at the modest farm in front of him, Shirou began contemplating. The state of the field in front of him was definitely well maintained, but it was hardly efficient. Then again, he was in the medieval era. Rather than work a three field or four field rotation, the field he was staring at was just that- a field. He didn't know when in the medieval era that farming would improve, but maybe he could do something to ease the burden on farmers. Sure he was here to get advice on the calfs, but couldn't he also give his own advice in turn? It was the least he could do for intruding on someone else's time.

"Papa should be stacking the rye by now," Emily said. "I'll go call him." She bowed towards Shirou before she went and ran towards the back of her small home.

Idly, Shirou watched the animals in the stys. There were pigs, sheep, cattle, and not much else. Unlike Arturia's home, there didn't seem to be any horses, or oxen to help in the fields. He furrowed his brows as he just then took notice of the quality of the harvesting equipment. The sickles and scythes were rusted and torn, the edges dull from constant use. He glanced back where Emily had run off to, but she had yet to reappear. Slowly, he walked towards the equipment and took matters into his own hands.

"Sorry it took so long," Emily apologized when she returned. "Papa's on his way. Sorry, but I have a few duties I have to attend to."

"Not a problem. Thank you for today."

"Y-You're welcome." Emily blushed as she left.

It wasn't long before a burly man came walking towards Shirou. He was rather short in stature, standing at roughly five-feet-two-inches. However, what he lacked in stature he more than made up for in physical build, his small goatee only adding to the effect. His brow was creased in sweat that stuck his long black hair over his forehead. At least it seemed to suit the man's mildly sun burned features. His brown eyes peered curiously at Shirou. "My name's David. Meh daughter said you wished to talk to me?"

"Yes, about raising Cattle. Shirou by the way."

David looked surprised for a moment, but he quickly hid it away behind a smile. "That's not something I'd hear any day," he said. Nobles never did do their own farming, or training livestock.

"Then that would mean I'm the first."

"That you are lad." David leaned against the plough he had brought with him. "Now what specifically do ya need ta know?"

Shirou pondered for a moment, he frankly had no idea what he needed to ask. "How to raise a calve?"

"That's easy lad. Feed em, and put 'em inside when it's cold out. They'll grow up in no time." David motioned to his own cattle out in the field. "It's when their older and ya have to milk them that it gets troublesome- at least for me. Till then, you're free to come back to me for advice."

Shirou smiled in thanks. He was pleased that he didn't have to do much in the short term, and that David was willing to aid him. "Thanks," he said. An act of kindness should not go without another act of kindness in return. "If you're willing, I have my own advice to give."

"Sure," David said. Nobles were always educated from young. Perhaps he might gleam some sort of insight.

"Your farming method," Shirou began slowly, not sure if he would offend David with his next statement. "It's quite bad."

David raised a brow. "Do tell?"

"You use only one field for all your crops," Shirou pointed out. "It would be better if you'd separated the land into three or four distinct fields. A three-field, or four-field system if you will."

David scratched at his head, skeptical of the foreign idea. What could he do with three, or four fields? "I don't understand." He said.

Shirou scratched the back of his head before an idea struck him. "What if you could grow food at any season and keep the soil fertile?" He prompted.

David thought about it, and in a moment it hit him. _Hard_. Sure he could grow wheat, rye, or barley, in early spring and summer, but what about fall, or the winter? The answer was obvious, they would all die. However, if he planted ground growing vegetables like onions in one field for the winter, and some other crops in the other fields...

"We'll never have trouble harvesting for the winter again." David summed up in astonishment. Still, it would be tricky to accomplish, but it wasn't impossible. Now if only they had bigger fields, but he supposed he would make do with what he had.

Shirou nodded his head as a hen came pecking around him. It was plump and healthy, its eyes staring at him curiously before turning its attention to more important matters. Eyes narrowing, it continued pecking at a jumping grass-hopper. "Quite a healthy hen," he said.

"Indeed. It was a worthy investment to give away the coins." David spoke before realizing what he said.

"You gave away all of the coins?" Shirou asked.

"I-I'm sorry if I gave them away, but the Anderson's had just lost their final pig. So I gave then the twelve copper to purchase new pigs, and they gave me a new hen." David explained. He really hoped that he wouldn't get in trouble for tossing away another's good will, especially a noble's.

Noticing David's troubled face, Shirou just shook his head. "I don't mind that you gave away the coins. I'd be a hypocrite if I did." He said. "I'm only surprised that you'd give it away with what little money you had on hand."

"Then I suppose I'm a bit different from the other folk in these parts." David sighed. "Still though, money doesn't grow in da fields." David thought about the simple dress he wanted to buy his wife, but shook his head. It wouldn't due to dwell on such thoughts. Especially for a simple farmer like himself. "The coppers were nice though." He ended up saying.

Shirou acknowledged David's point. It was hard living life without money. Money bought food, money bought homes, but "Sometimes there are things that money can't buy." He said with finality. Money did not mean happiness, it only helps. "You're a good man, never know when something lucky may come your way."

"Aye, for that we look to the stars for guidance and pray to the one's above." David readily agreed. Despite his lack of income, he still had his wife and daughter. In the end, they were all that mattered.

"I best get going; I still have to feed the calves back home." Shirou straightened his back and his clothing before extending out his hand.

Unsure about the gesture of fair well, David clumsily grasped Shirou's hand in a hand shake.

Moments later, Shirou let go of David's hand. "Thanks again for the help. I appreciate it." He said as he left.

David watched as Shirou left his home. He had promised he would try this three, or four field system thing, but at the moment he still had some work to do in the field. He called for Emily and asked her to tell the missus that he would be late for supper once again. Tiredly, he stared across at the unharvested portions of the field, gauging how long it would take to harvest with the equipment he had on hand. The answer seemed bleak, but he wasn't a man to wallow in self pity.

So, without another thought, David began to work in earnest. He first gathered the cotton bags to store the harvest, and then moved on for the other supplies. He had no field animals to aid him, so he had to rely on his own strength. He froze suddenly as he walked into the small shed adjacent to the field.

_"...never know when something lucky may come your way."_

That boy.

David dropped the cotton bags and the rest of his equipment to stare astonishingly at his sickle and scythe. The chipped and frayed ends, even the growing rust was all gone. Tentatively, he traced a finger over the sharpened edge, and for once, he drew blood. Not even the Smithy could sharpen such an edge. He grasped his scythe unfamiliarly, he didn't feel any splinters digging into his skin, just the bare smoothness of timber. He could work with that. Maybe now he just may have time to attempt the three field system.

* * *

Arturia was boring holes into the jugs of milk she bought. Not physically mind you, but mentally with her eyes. She had bought the milk on impulse and now had to find a reasonable explanation for Sir Ector. An explanation that involved why she didn't have any wood for her pail of nails. Not that she had one that wouldn't embarrass her. She could already feel the heat flooding her face just imagining herself saying 'I wanted Shirou to notice me' to Sir Ector. God she was an idiot, and even then she would still have to explain to Sir Ector that she wanted Shirou to know she was a girl. If Kay ever heard about this...no! She shook her head. She couldn't let him find out about it; he would definitely hold it over her head.

Arturia glowered over her own self restraint, but faltered under the smiling gaze of Sir Anders. What did he want with her? She hadn't exactly seen him in weeks, not since Shirou sparred with him.

"Pleasure seeing you again," Sir Anders said.

"I don't recall meeting you."

"Then I'm Sir Anders, and you?"

"Arthur."

"There. We've met."

"And I'll be on my way." Arturia made to move on, but Sir Anders lifted up a palm.

"A little bit of your time lad." Sir Anders knelt until he was eye level with Arturia to convey the seriousness of the question. "You were there weren't you. With Shirou of Ashton." The question was a statement.

Arturia pursed her lips. Sir Anders wanted Shirou, but for what reason? Could he be in trouble? She needed more information that she didn't have. She turned to the Squire beside Sir Anders in an attempt to buy more time before she would answer.

"Oh, this is my Squire Palamid." Sir Anders readly introduced. "He's roughly ten summers old and fairly well off with a sword." A glint appeared in Sir Anders eyes. He could tell from the way Arturia clamed up from hearing Shirou's name that she was affiliated with him in some way. It also told him however, that he wouldn't be getting his information so easily...and damn he needed that information. It had already been several weeks of patroling Bristol and the surrounding forest of Ashton for a single boy that they still hadn't found. Why did Shirou have to make things so difficult?

"I can introduce myself, Sir Anders," Palamid said. His face was obscured by a steel helmet, and his body covered in plate held together by leather straps. "But why bother introducing me to a peasant?"

 _A peasant?_ Arturia's eyes narrowed. She didn't take much offense to being called a peasant, but the manor in which the word was used irked her to no end. Peasants were people too, the people who provide for the entire Kingdom.

"...And what's wrong with being a peasant?" Arturia asked, her voice low.

Palamid huffed beneath his helm, the answer was so obvious to him that he didn't even dane it with a proper answer. Arturia didn't like that, not one one bit. She didn't like the implied message.

"Now now lads, no need to quarrel," Sir Anders said. Arturia glared at him. He definitely had her now. He turned to Palamid, he just needed a little push. "I'm sure you both know the way Squire's settle quarrels anyway."

"Again, _Peasant._ " Palamid pointed at Arturia. "Not worth my time."

"Then fortunately this _peasant_ is a _Squire_." Arturia stated coldly.

"Oh, I see now." Palamid turned to Sir Anders. "Do peasants enjoy playing 'Squire'?"

 _Cool your head, Arturia, just cool your head._ Arturia gripped the pommel of her wooden sword. She shouldn't let the enemy provoke her. "Do Squires play Jester, Sir Anders? I believe I see one in front of me." She blurted.

Palamid stilled. "Sir Anders..." He began. "It's under a Squire's duty to discipline the peasants is it not?"

"In most cases, yes," Sir Anders said.

"Then I see a peasant over stepping boundaries."

Sir Anders shrugged. He knew better than to think the pretty boy was a peasant. He had noticed first, the calluses on his hands, and then his posture. He was trained, of that he had no doubt. Still though, perhaps he could works things to his favour. "How about a duel then? Winner grants one wish to the loser."

"Those terms are acceptable," Arturia said before she registered it. She furrowed her brows, she couldn't back out now.

"Hmph, against you there's no way I'd lose." Palamid drew his sword.

Sir Anders signaled Arturia to draw her sword before he stood between them to oversee the duel. "Winner draws first blood." He said.

"By the count of three."

Arturia flexed her fingers and lowered her hips into a low stance.

"Two."

Palamid pointed his sword in front of him, gripped firmly in both of his hands.

"One."

-Clang!

Sparks flew as Arturia's wooden sword pressed up against Palamids. Sir Anders smirked, he had his own experience with that wooden sword. Although it made no logical sense, it was durable enough to dent his armour, and sharp enough to chip away at a steel blade. By now, he had no doubts that his Squire Palamid was dumbfounded. Still, it would take more than surprise to defeat him.

Palamid grimaced, his arms were straining against Arturia's wooden sword. A _wooden sword_ of all things. He braced his feet on the ground and lowered his center of mass. Taking into account his opponents smaller frame, he should have taken a higher stance to over power the fool. Yet the fool's strength was deceiving. The fool's stature appeared to have no correlation with his strength. It was surprising, but he had his own surprises. He released his right hand from his swords pommel, and near instantly, the fool's sword carried over to his side and was deflected by his left angled sword-hand; letting the wooden sword harmlessly slide down his swords shaft and towards the ground.

Arturia's eyes widened as her strike dropped harmlessly to Palamid's side. She hadn't expected him to ease his grip by removing a hand, but she did see Palamid's approaching fist. She backpedaled, eyes dilating as the fist drew nearer to her face. She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth, but the blow never came.

"What in God's name is that?" The voice was Sir Anders.

Slowly, Arturia opened her eyes as she felt the sensation of a peck at her back. She turned around.

 _"Friend?"_ Efret, the glowing blue hawk asked. It had been asked by Shirou to watch over Arturia should he not be there to protect her.

Arturia turned to Palamid, putting aside her interest of why Efret was here. Palamid still had his fist outstretched. "Not a friend." She said.

"Of course I'm not your friend, what the hell are you talking about?" Palamid said as he pulled back his fist. "And you haven't answered Sir Anders' question either."

 _"Not friend?"_ Efrets eyes narrowed.

"Nor have we finished this duel," Arturia said as she resumed her stance, sending a glance at Efret to communicate her intentions. Nothing would surprise her this time.

 _Duel?_ Efret began to think. It saw Shirou and Arturia play every morning. Efret nodded its head and eased the glare it had on Palamid. _They were only playing_.

"Fine then." Palamid raised his sword. "Come at thee."

_Keep your eyes on your opponent at all times, observe first, strike later_

Arturia attacked, but maintained her distance, her strikes more like pokes than anything. Based on the way Palamid was defending against her, he was naturally left handed. She took note of that.

Arturia thrust in, attacking Palmid's right side. He pulled back to gain ground, but she wouldn't let him.

Sir Anders watched the proceedings as he warily eyed Efret off to the side. What exactly do you feed a bird to get it that large and glow blue? Magic Herbs? Mushrooms? He wasn't paying as much attention to the duel, as he was debating the pressing questions in his mind.

"Bugger off!" Palamid yelled as he shoved Arturia back with his shoulder after a sword-lock. He needed to recompose himself. He had not given his opponent enough credit. The fool was good. Real good. He stared warily as the fool picked himself off the ground, glared at him, and then resumed his stance.

_The most important thing to understand, Arturia, is to never give up._

Arturia steadied her breath as her spinning vision cleared. She would have to up her training later in a way that would further her reaction time.

Palamid was breathing heavily, she observed. It probably had to do with the heavy armour he was wearing. Compared to her leather armour, she was better off in endurance. _Heavy Armour?_

Arturia's eyes widened as she scanned Palamid.

_In full body armour, the joints are the priority targets_

Arturia ascertained her targets and charged.

-Shink!

Her sword deflected Palamid's up and positioned her pommel for a heavy blow to Palamid's knee. She struck, hearing the dull crack of steel, or bone. Either way, Palamid dropped, unable support his weight.

"Yield." Arturia said breathing heavily. Her sword was positioned just under Palamid's helmet, aimed at the neck.

"..." Palamid refused to answer. Sir Anders did instead.

"Unfortunately, it's your loss Palamid." Sir Anders said with a sigh. There goes any information on Shirou, but maybe the other men had found something. "I'm going to have to up your training, and don't forget the bet you made either." Sir Anders turned to Arturia. "What do you want the lad to do?"

Arturia contemplated as she caught her breath. Looking t o the fields, an idea struck her. "He is to work as a peasant for a week." She said.

Palamid was less than happy, but held his tongue when he realized Efret was directly above his face. Inside his helmet, he began to pale. Oh god it was going to eat him!

"I'll see to it that the lad gets it done," Sir Anders said. "Sorry for wasting your time."

Arturia nodded her head as Efret flew beside her. She watched silently as Sir Anders dragged Palamid to the fields and away from sight. She stared at Efret, and Efret stared back. "I owe you one friend," she said, referring to when she nearly got punched.

 _"Play?"_ Efret said.

Arturia smiled. "Of course, I'll play tomorrow morning."

Efret nodded before flying off, leaving Arturia alone.

Arturia stared down the road and sighed. She still had half-a-mile left to get home. Even then, when she got home and stepped through her front gates, she had to find a way to hide her milk jugs from Sir Ector. She'd think about it more when she got there.

Half-an-hour later, and she arrived at her home.

Her eyes darted back and forth, making sure the coast was clear before she proceeded to the back door. Sir Ector was probably in the study relaxing, or putting Kay through more training. Either way, the back door was the safest option...That is, if Sir Ector wasn't already standing there.

Their eyes met for a fraction of a second, before Arturia turned back and bolted away. She didn't get far as she had ran into the barn without thinking. She heard Sir Ector's patient steps before she registered his voice.

"What are you doing, Arturia?" Sir Ector asked.

Arturia placed the jugs of milk behind her and fumbled with her hands for the pail of nails. "I got the nails?" She ventured as she presented them. Hopefully, Sir Ector wouldn't see the milk.

"Indeed you did." Sir Ector shrugged. "But what are you hiding behind you?"

"Nothing." Arturia said as she began to panic.

"And I suppose the milk jugs I can see between your legs are nothing?"

Arturia flushed in embarrassment. Her only recompense was that Kay wasn't here to see anything. "...Yup."

Sir Ector raised a brow. "What are the milk jugs for? And don't even think about lying, I've raised you better than that."

Arturia pursed her lips in hesitation. God she wanted to die right now. She couldn't lie, not when Sir Ector trusted her with his well earned money. "I-I heard the l-local mothers say that m-milk is good." She stuttered out as she turned her gaze away from Sir Ector. She couldn't meet his gaze in fear of him seeing the growing blush on her face.

It didn't even take two seconds for Sir Ector to realize the hidden truth of Arturia's answer. She said it in a way that it seemed like she bought the milk for her own health, but there was another meaning hidden in the context. He smiled at Arturia in amusement. Who was she trying to fool? The answer was clear as day no matter how much she tried to deny it with excuses. "You fancy that boy Shirou don't you," he said. "Perhaps as a friend at the moment?"

Truthfully, Sir Ector was still testing Shirou if he was trustworthy, but from what he's observed, it's likely. His observations had nothing to do with the food Shirou kept bringing in every visit.

"Well yeah he's my friend." Arturia said quickly.

"Let me rephrase that: You like that boy Shirou enough to let him in on your secret."

"..." Arturia looked away as Sir Ector laughed.

"I'm not mad," Sir Ector said as he ruffled Arturia's hair. "I'm kind of happy actually. It's very rare to find a person you can place your trust in."

"...So I _can_ tell him?"

Sir Ector sighed, staring at Arturia's questioning face. " _That_ , Arturia, is only something that you can decide. By the way," Sir Ector's gaze turned towards the items Arturia had brought with her. Sure she already got the nails and a questionable amount of milk jugs, but... "Where's the wood?"

* * *

It was with a huff of resignation that Arturia once again found herself on the way to the market for wood. Sir Ector had asked if she wanted him to come along, but she was a strong girl. Besides, what kind off Knight couldn't carry a few planks of wood?

As she made her way towards the outer edges of Bristol for her wood, the market having closed, she paused as she took in her surroundings. She had never been this far to the outer edges of Bristol, at least not this particular area. The ground was scorched from some recent fire, pasture fences and upturned crops littered the country side. _What could have happened?_ She began to ponder. Still though, she had arrived at her destination, the Old Arken's Trading Post. It was a shop that sold the trading goods of the neighboring towns, but it also sold wood.

Stepping in, her nose was invaded by the distinct scent of a fragrance called incense. It was a foreign trading item, and it calmed the nerves. She walked to the front counter and waited for the burly man to attend to her.

"What do ya want Laddy?" The man asked.

"I'd like to purchase some wood, maybe a meter long or more," Arturia said.

The man measured Arturia with his eyes.

"Sure laddy, but yer a wee bit young to carry somthin this heavy," the man said as he pulled a bundle of ceder roughly a meter long from the wall. "Do ya want meh little wagon?"

"No," Arturia said as her lower lip twitched. She didn't like being underestimated. "I can handle myself."

Tha man paused in his working, his eyes gazing forlornly at the ruined pastures outside. He shook his head after Arturia began to stare. "Sorry laddy, yer phrase was somthin my friend said before he went to hunt da beast living in da far outskirts of the forest over there." The man pointed out the windows and towards the thick forest past the ruined pastures.

"A beast?" Arutria asked, her eyes widening.

"Aye, a mighty one taller than three men high, and stronger than seven cattle I reckon. It would explain why ma friend came back in pieces."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"Don't be. Ma friend died a hunter. His honour lives on." The man wrapped the bundle of wood in thin leather before he placed it in a small pulling wagon. "Take the wagon laddy, the wood's to heavy for ya."

"I said I-"

"Take it. Don't make meh feel bad. I'm already in high spirits cause of the beast."

"High spirits?" Arturia questioned as she grasped the handle of the wagon given to her.

"Aye, the day shines in my favour. I won't question it, but the beast does not come to attack again. I'll actually be able to sleep tonight," the man said with a smile.

"Then where is it going." Arturia asked curiously.

"Based on its direction, to the old Ashton's place in Ashton forest- what's the matter laddy? Your britches caught in a twist?" Arturia ignored the man's comment, a sinking feeling taking root within her gut. "No worries no worries, no one lives there."


	5. Chapter 5

It was always quiet near Ashton manor, save for the bustling of animals in the forest; the simple thumping, or pata pat of scurrying rodents and squirrels present at all times. Tonight however, as the sun began to set, it was quiet, not that Shirou minded, or had any idea of a change. You see, within the new bounded field surrounding Ashton Manor, the sounds of the forest were irrelevant; the field blocked out the sound to allow those inside to concentrate on their work and craft. Nothing could be heard from inside and outside. Near the front of the manor, by the ageing fountain, was where Shirou was at. Water still spewed from its cracked muse at the top of the fountain, despite the crawling vines of vegetation growing along its base. Perhaps there was a hidden aqueduct, or water pooling beneath the fountain to provide the water? Nevertheless, what mattered was what Shirou was doing near the fountain. He was training.

Sweat glistened on his skin as he practiced his forms, the ones he remembered from Saber. Although it wasn't exactly his style, the moves helped to solidify his base foundations of swordsmanship, and they were good practice. Absently, he wondered what he should do with Arturia next morning. It was always training with her, which though good, may not be the best to shape her personality. He didn't want Arturia to go through what Saber had in her timeline. There was a point to him being here, and he wouldn't waste the opportunity to help Arturia. Not at all.

Efret fluttered by Shirou, watching intently as he followed through with his forms and waiting for his signal. Sure enough, a dull blade went flying across the horizon and Efret was on it in an instant. As a hawk, it clamped down on the blade with its beak and dive bombed back to Shirou who repeated the process.

Shirou didn't mind playing with Efret, hell he had incorporated it into his training routine to kill two birds with one stone. Albeit, he was not out to kill the bird.

Shirou paused suddenly, feeling a disturbance in the bounded field. Not only did it block out sound, but it still functions as a basic alert mechanism when organisms pass through. And this organism was quite large. He narrowed his eyes and signaled Effret to take perch atop the manor. Effret complied and began to survey the area. Meanwhile, Shirou could no longer be seen by the fountain.

_Trace on_

The mantra came to the forefront of his mind, his magic reinforcing his body.

_Barrier breach at the far West_

His destination set in his mind, he propelled himself forward towards the other side of the manor. His feet kicked up dirt as he ran, but he quickly stopped after jumping upon a tall tree. Based on the direction of the breach, the intruder would eventually pass by him. He pressed his body against the tree and waited, watching carefully with his eyes for any movement.

* * *

Strange, the beast thought as it lumbered on all fours, grey fur coating its hide. It had been through these woods before, but never had it felt the presence of magic since several decades past. Interesting. Its eyes glanced over its surroundings, nothing was too out of the ordinary, but it did notice worn paths. Instinctively it knew it was not a forest path created by any animal, the print was unmistakable. A new human resided in the wood. Its eyes narrowed further upon closer inspection of the forest path. Two it would seem, and children by the size of their footprints.

It smiled, it had grown tired on feasting on the blood of sheep and cattle. Damn the pack regulations; he wasn't attacking the city, only hunting in the forest. Yes, it justified. It was only hunting. The pack would be no better than hypocrites if they decided his actions were treason.

Stupid pack, and stupid leader. The Blood Packs should be feared, not hidden. If only the previous Lord were still alive and not his damnable offspring. A whistling sound caused his ears to perk, and he quickly turned his gaze.

The leaves fell in a sudden flurry.

 _"Be gone, Beast of the Blood Packs. This one's Lord has returned,"_ Effret said as he landed. A palpable silence dominated the area.

It took a moment for the beast to contemplate what it had just heard, but then it promptly smiled.

 _"Ah, so the little stray has learned to speak? You were never a true beast anyway,"_ The beast growled. _"Though I will admit I'm quite jealous of you stray. You have your freedom to kill."_

_"This one is not like you. This one does not needlessly kill."_

_"Oh? And I suppose your rage induced killing spree didn't happen?"_

_"..."_

_"Hit a nerve stray?"_ The beast prowled around Efret, circling him and watching for weakness. The beast's body of three-men high dwarfing Efrets smaller size. _"Didn't appreciate how they murdered your Lord and his blood?"_

Efret's eyes narrowed. _"His blood lives. It runs strong. This one can feel it."_

The beast's gaze wandered to the used forest path, a realization striking him. _"Two of them live,"_ the beast stated. _"My damnable lord would love to hear such news."_

 _"She would, wouldn't she?"_ Efret mused before his form caught blue fire. _"Unfortunately, this one told you such news knowing that your life ends here."_

The beast laughed. _"Pathetic stray, you were never my equal."_

 _"This one may not be your equal... but this one's Lord and his blood has none."_ Efret flew to the sky as the shrieking of wind tore across the silence of the forest.

The beast's eyes widened. What the fu-

"AAAAhhh!" The beast screamed as a blade tore through its abdominal. It spat up bile and gobs of red blood past its serrated teeth. It roared, looking for whoever attacked it, but found nothing in the stillness of the forest. The hole in its body ached a dull pain as it's in-born regeneration took full effect.

 _"Stray!"_ The beast yelled as even Efret eluded it in the sudden chaos. _"Coward!"_

"Leave." A voice resounded across the forest, interrupting the beast's calls. It growled in irritation before it came to a sudden realization. Snapping its head to the side, its eyes zeroed in on the sword that pierced a hole through its stomach.

 _M-Magic?! The blood of Ashton already knows magic?!_ The twisted sword disappeared in mots of blue pixels. _Impossible!_

_-"This one's Lord has none."_

The beast clicked its tongue. _So what if the vermin possessed magic, so did it. But IT was a Phantasmal Beast._

Its muscles swelled up in accordance with the beast's will. If it couldn't find the enemy...then to hell with the forest around him! Smashing its fist against the ground, a tidal wave of earth upturned and devastated the area. Trees splintered and toppled over layers of displaced soil.

The beast's eyes darted across the area, spotting a tuft of red hair through the smoke. It grinned and bound forward. _You're mine!_

 _Fox hair?_ The beast thought idly as it gouged flesh and snapped bones. It only took a moment for it to realize that it was a fox he had clawed through with his hand. Which begs the question, where was the enemy?

* * *

Briskly, no; hurriedly, Arturia tried to make her way through the thick underbrush. The forest was different at the evening. It was harder to make out familiar paths and landmarks. A chill went down Arturia's back, it felt as if the darkness of the forest would envelop her. She fidgeted, eyes darting around her. _For Shirou_ , she reminded herself. She had to warn him at least.

She walked awkwardly in the shadows, testing for foot holds by probing forward with one leg and leaning back on the other. It was slow going, and it greatly frustrated her to no end. If it was Shirou in her position, she had no doubts as to what he would have done.

She pushed back her trepidation and steeled her face, her wide teel eyes filled with purpose. The rustling of her own feet was all she heard as she continued on. Frankly, it unerved her. Something was wrong here. She was in a forest wasn't she? Of course she was, the trees and vegetation was proof enough. However, where was the sound of the critters? The night owls? Maybe she should have considered asking Kay for help, but what if Shirou...

She shook her head, it wouldn't happen. Her choice was the right choice. The sooner she found him the better.

Her feet soon found familiar ground, and she quickly picked up speed and ran along the forest path. She wasn't breathing too heavily, but her pace was enough for a light sheen of sweat to form over her skin. That was when she noticed it. The beast.

She froze, unable to move as her eyes travelled over the beast's form. It was smaller than what she had heard as it only stood around two meters. It was sniffing the ground, so Arturia took the chance to duck behind cover.

She sighed in relief, at least it hadn't reached Shirou yet. Suddenly she realized something very important. She cringed. What was she supposed to do now? Her wooden sword tapped against her leg and she knew what she needed to do.

Shirou shouldn't be expecting a beast to come attack him, he was defenseless. Even with magic, the castor needed time to utilize it. A surprise attack from the beast could prove fatal, but here and now, she had the opportunity to prevent such a thing. She gulped. Sir Ector would have a field day if he ever found out what she was planning to do.

Slowly, she crept up to the beast, her vision was narrowed, and her hands were grasped onto her sword.

Her sword was trembling, her body unable to suppress her trepidation. _Think of it as sport, just another wild boar, or foal._

She closed her eyes and breathed out slowly. She had to relax. No sword was as brittle as a coward's blade. _Fight fight!_ She urged herself. She pursed her lips and opened her eyes.

...It was gone.

Arturia paled. She could _feel_ it, a hot breath breathing over her shoulder. Goosebumps ran down her body as she slowly turned around to gaze at a deep vermilion.

She couldn't scream, couldn't even move as the thing circled around her. Its black fur stood on end, its inch long claws digging into the dirt. She panicked, her body swinging wildly with her sword as she tripped over a hidden tree root. _Nonono!_ She had to get up before the beast pinned her.

The beast growled and lunged.

 _Damn it!_ Arturia rolled, but the beast managed to pierce her left palm with a claw and anchor it to the ground.

She screamed.

The pain throbbed up her arm and caused her vision to blur. The beast's face was inches away from her, but it chose to turn its attention on her wounded palm. Its tongue flicked out and it slowly began to lap up the spilt blood.

Arturia whimpered. Every time the beast's tongue came in contact with her bloodied palm, a spike of pain immediately attacked her. She thrashed at the beast, trying to get it off of her, but it shrugged off her attempt.

It was toying with her, and she couldn't do anything about it!

 _H-Help! Somebody!_ She had never felt to so helpless before. She had been way over her head. She was only a child, there was no way she could have defeated such a beast.

_Arturia, your sword...promise me you'll always have it with you._

Arturia's wooden sword flashed in a sudden radiance, blue interface patterns running up its shaft. Her arm moved without her control. Swift was the moved arm, but even swifter was the wooden blade that stabbed into the beast's unsuspecting chest.

The beast yipped and fell past Arturia.

She quickly scrambled away from the beast, breathing heavily.

Blood gurgled out of the beast's mouth as it forced itself on its feet. It had not expected an enchanted sword. No normal sword could harm a phantasmal beast. It lurched forward in rage, but collapsed from another sudden injury to its chest. _Filthy human!_

Arturia didn't know what was going on. Her body was moving without her will. Every strike with her sword was masterful. It was not the wielder who wielded the blade, it was the blade that wielded the wielder. Every action, every movement, wasted no effort. Her blows were precise, stripping away the beast's vitality.

 _Enchantment!_ Arturia marveled. Her wooden sword was enchanted like the twig Shirou had once used. But-but, how was it capable of letting her fight? She didn't question it any further and willingly followed through with the movements presented to her in her mind. Her speed more than doubled.

_Impossible, impossi-_

The beast's throat was impaled and it quickly collapsed dead.

Arturia just stared at the sword in her right hand, ignoring her injured left. She knew Shirou must of had something to do with it. She felt quite grateful.

The interface patterns soon disappeared and Arturia began to feel her exhaustion. Still though, she felt elated. She'd won! Quietly, she vowed to herself to increase her training. She didn't want to feel so helpless ever again.

Suddenly, the sky flashed a dull red and the earth quaked beneath her. _What?_ She shielded her face from the turbulent winds and stood her ground. She turned towards the direction of the blast and clasped her fists. _Shirou!_

* * *

Self regeneration? Shirou mused as Efret landed on an adjacent tree branch. He nodded towards Efret and the bird nodded back.

Self regeneration shouldn't pose that much of a problem, but it did call for heavier fire power. He frowned, he didn't want to destroy any parts of his home. Albeit, the beast's earlier attack reduced a fair bit of land into rubble.

 _"Kill."_ Efret stated.

Shirou nodded his head, he couldn't allow any phantasmal beasts to wreak havoc on others.

His circuits thrummed in response to his will.

_I am the bone of my sword._

He leapt off of his tree and circled around for a better vantage point. By now he could determine that the beast was aptly frustrated. It was rightfully so, as the beast had no chance of sighting him. Hell, he was too great a distance away.

 _Alteration complete._ Shirou held his next arrow, and continued to run around on the off chance that the beast may sight him. This wasn't the first time he had underestimated an opponent, and he didn't want a repeat of such a disaster.

_"Stray!"_

Efret tensed. It could hear the beast's calls unlike Shirou, for it understood the language of the beast's. All Shirou could hear were low and threatening growls. It had taken Efret decades before it had learned enough to speak in the human tongue.

Shirou narrowed his eyes. Sure the beast had regeneration, but it was no immortal phoenix. There had to be a limit, and he had all the time necessary to find it.

He sat down after he felt that he had run around long enough. Pressing his feet against the black bow's shaft, he drew the bow string to its full length and loaded his arrow. His lip twitched, sometimes he just didn't appreciate his smaller stature. "The chasing hound of death..." Shirou muttered as he closed his eyes. An image formed in his head. Grendel Grendel, can't you see?

_"Useless cowards!"_

The world of man is after thee. Shirou released his bow string. "... ** _Hrunting._** "

The beast continued to growl before a blinding red light encompassed its vision. And then there was silence.

Shirou opened his eyes, and the world exploded in red. Wind whipped against his face, but he didn't mind it very much as he traced another arrow and decided to change location. If his body was better able, he would have fired consecutive shots. As of the moment, it would have taken him too long to nock another arrow, assuming the beast was still alive. It may not have the true regenerative abilities of a pheonix, but its regeneration may be enough to survive the destruction of its body.

He moved on, the hunter after his prey.

Efret regarded Shirou carefully. What had just happened was absurd. It turned its gaze to the rubble that remained. It knew its young lord was strong and gifted to be able to utilize magecraft at such an age, but it didn't expect the sheer _destruction_. Its lord was truly strong.

"Efret, circle around the back," Shirou said. "I'm going to find another vantage point."

Efret nodded and took off into the sky.

Shirou felt the prickles of branches as he jumped from tree to tree, but he ignored it in favour of keeping his eyes on the smoke. The scent of magic wafting into his nose was all the indication he needed to ascertain the beast's condition. It was alive.

He felt the blood pulsing through his body as he stopped atop the canopy of a distant tree. From there he drew his prana into his eyes and focused his vision. The world zoomed into focus, minor details plain to see despite the darkness of the forest.

He carefully nocked his bow, then waited for the smoke to clear.

* * *

 _Damn damn damn!_ The beast seethed in fury. For a fraction of a moment, it felt the pain of half its body incinerating. _What damnable mortal magic was he facing here?_ As it would turn out, half of its body was incinerated. For once in his life time, the beast felt fear, shivers even. In a single moment in time, a single glance at the twisted black blade that did all this, his instincts had told him to flee. It was almost as if the attack was attuned to killing beasts, monsters, _Grendel_. The beast shook its head, it _couldn't_ be. The legends depicted a _sword_. But...but it _was_ a sword. _Enough of this!_ It was a cub no longer. Legends were simply that, _legends._

The beast willed its body to heal to speed up the process. Its body regenerated in a matter of seconds. _Good good,_ now all that was left was to find the prey. It closed its eyes and shifted underground. Any sound, any vibration would alert it of the prey's potential location.

Thump thump thump. Went the sound of little feet running across the forest.

It grinned and tunneled quickly underground, leaving Shirou to stare vacantly at an empty space as the smoke cleared. The beast was gone.

* * *

Shirou eased the grip on his bow, and frowned. The scent of magic wafting through his nose was getting lighter and lighter, the beast was fleeing? Isn't this alright? He could tell that the beast was not fleeing in the direction of Bristol, but instead further into the forest.

_"Go away?"_

Shirou looked to Efret as it landed beside him.

Efret shook his head _"It not running."_ Efret could sense the blood lust coming from the beast. It definitely wasn't running away. Without waiting for Shirou's response, Efret took off into the sky to survey where the beast was going. It was easy, it simply had to follow the blood lust.

 _"Search,"_ Efret said to Shirou as it flew.

"Let me know what you find," Shirou answered as he watched Efret go. He contemplated what he should do. Should he give chase, or remain and defend Ashton manor? He furrowed his brows and began to move again within the cover of the trees.

The moon dimly illuminated the area in an iridescent glow, wind blowing against lavender coloured flower petals.

Why was the beast running from him? Shirou thought idly as he maintained a detectable distance away from the beast. He couldn't see it, but his nose could determine the general direction. Was it invisible? Possibly, Phantasmal beasts had all kinds of latent magical capabilities. It was not far of a stretch to assume it could possess such an ability. His options were now limited. Although he could pinpoint the beast's general area, he couldn't actually pinpoint it. To top it off, he was attacking through range, so firing blindly would only compromise his location. Should he attempt close quarters?

He flexed the fingers of his hands, and debated the topic. He was shorter now, different from how he used to fight. His strength had dwindled as the capacity of his reinforcement was reduced in accordance with his mass. It was the same concept of a child baseball batter participating in the Major league. He simply would not be able to utilize the full potential of his weapons. How could Assassin in the Grail War utilize his famed technique if he was just barely four-feet?

In a similar concept, the reason why he had to position himself properly to draw his bow, was that he lacked the full strength and width to fully arch the bow string otherwise.

Of course he had the idle thought to shrink the bow, but the bow was precisely large to be able to fire off _Noble Phantasms._ For example, it's common sense that a bigger sword is more durable than its smaller counter part, the knife. Despite being made of the same material, a larger mass allows Shirou, a greater opportunity to increase the density of the steel and alloyed components. A smaller bow would not be able to withstand the pressure exerted by _Noble Phantasms_ , weapons of reputable legend.

The silence of the night was suddenly interrupted by a frantic calling.

 _"Friend! It Friend!"_ Efret's voice resounded within Shirou's mind, filling him with a sense of unparalleled urgency. Friend? There was only one person Efret called friend. _Arturia!_

Shirou forced more prana into his body, reinforcing it as if it were his older one. Blood burst from the pressure of ruptured blood vessels. He ignored the pain. _Why was she here!_

"AHAHAAHH!" He released a battle yell. _Come at me you bastard COME AT ME!_ He didn't care anymore, not about distance, not even about his chances at close combat. _Don't you dare go after her!_ She was just a girl at this point. Not even a King, and not even a knight. She was a wet-behind-the-ears-Squire who was still in the process of refining her swordsmanship.

From where he was, he could finally see her. Her brown tunic held together by leather straps and her wildly flowing blond hair. Her teal eyes were darting back and forth, no doubt that she had heard his yell. He couldn't make out anything else as he was too far away, but it didn't change the fact that she was _there_ , and the beast had no intention of stopping.

 _God Dammit, why wasn't it stopping?_ Invisible or not, it should have heard his yell, unless- The _ground_.

_Shirou, promise me never to be that reckless again. What were you thinking going up against Berserker for me!?_

_I'm sorry, Saber._ It didn't matter if he broke his promise. All that did, was that he had to get to Arturia before the beast despite it's head start. Shirou exceeded the amount of prana his body could take as he forced every bit of his energy into his reinforcement. His skin ruptured, his veins visible and bulging from beneath. He didn't question the fact that he could have used his bow, it would have been a foolish move. On top of the loading time being to slow, the possibility of Arturia getting caught in the blast was to high.

 _"Wait!"_ Efret called as it tried to catch up. It was unable to do so and was quickly left behind.

Shirou was a bullet, faster than sound itself as he broke through the sound barrier. A shockwave uprooted the very trees he passed.

 _Faster, I need to go faster!_ His tendons tore from the pressure, his bones past the point of fracturing, but still he forced himself forward. He dropped his bow, his armour, and his arrows, in exchange for further speed. _Avalon!_

Already he could feel the magical properties of the sheath of the holiest blade, but its rate of regeneration was less than his body's rate of destruction. The closer he got to Arturia the stronger the healing became, but it would _never_ equal its true capabilities in his hands, only the King's. Despite the boost it got from arriving in the present era, it was still in the process of adjusting, a process sped only when in the presence of Arturia and her latent magical signature. At this point, it wasn't completely done, but it was leagues ahead of what it had once been at Homurahara Academy.

Time slowed down as Shirou landed in front of Arturia. The ground quaked beneath him as a claw rose from the rubble. He had no time to react, and no prior warnings. For a moment, he met eyes with Arturia. Him, half naked and blood soaked, injuries from ruptured vessels everywhere- her with rapidly dilating eyes and quivering lips. He pushed her. Surprised, she didn't resist and fell on her bum. Their eyes never left each others. One in acceptance, the other in unspeakable horror.

Blood spurted against the earth. Shirou groaned and stumbled as the beast retracted its claw. _He made it...he ..ma..d.e..it-_ He shook his head, now wasn't the time. He coughed up bile and chunks of blood, a hole present straight through where his stomach was.

Avalon was working tirelessly to heal him from the fatal wound, but that required prana on his part. Prana in which he simply did not have as any bit he had left was going to go into his last efforts. He wasn't thinking about himself, wasn't thinking about how close he was to dying.

He stood weak and wobbly, and he would let _nothing_ harm Arturia.

The beast smiled. _It got the Ashton, It got the bloody Ashton!_ So what if the boy had destructive magic, nothing would matter now that he was dead. A future thorn plucked at its base!

However, the beast narrowed its eyes. _How was the boy still alive?_ It had literally stabbed a hand right through him. It frowned. Most humans tended to die after a wound of such severity, but the boy was an Ashton. It backed away and watched carefully as the Ashton failed to stand firm.

Arturia couldn't move, couldn't stop her eyes from travelling down the amount of injuries Shirou possessed. She choked back a sob as she watched him struggle to remain standing, on who's behalf she already knew. She wasn't disillusioned. She knew what had happened, the sheer implications if Shirou had not been there to push her out of the way...

The beast continued to stare calculatively. Why hadn't the Ashton fallen yet? What kind of will power did the boy possess? Its gaze flickered to the blond behind the boy who stood petrified, face pale as she fully comprehended what just happened. Foolish foolish foolish, it thought. Then again, it supposed it should thank the blond for the openi- _What?_

An acute burst of magic.

The Ashton, bloodied and no doubt dying, raised his hand and muttered,

" ** _Hrunting._** "

A pit filled the beast's stomach as the boy muttered out a name all to familiar in the world of the beasts. _No, no it can't be?!_

The blade formed from nothing. Its splendor granting credibility to its name, **_Hrunting_** the Beast Hound of the Red Plains, the red sword of seeking annihilation. Its core was twisted, like an inverted pair of scissors, but its use as a blade was evident to see. Sharp ridges and serrated edges made way for a deadly monster slaying weapon.

The beast's body felt the blood lust emanating from the sword. The blood lust detecteble only by beasts. _B-But it can't be!_

The beast ran, unable to suppress its growing trepidation. _It shouldn't exist dammit, it shouldn't!_

Efret broke through the tree line, and froze. The blue flame surrounding its body flickered and danced, before it became an infernal hellfire.

 _"You!"_ Efret yelled in rage. His lord, his lord was... _"I'll kill you!"_

_"Bugger off Stray! I have no time for you!"_

The two Phantasmal Beasts disappeared within the foliage of the forest. Leaving only Arturia and Shirou behind.

Shirou stood forward with his back to Arturia.

"S-Shirou?" Arturia called out fearfully.

No answer.

From her position, she could see the hole that travelled straight through Shirou's stomach and out the other side. He was okay, h-he was okay wasn't he...

"Shirou, a-answer me!" She yelled. A lump was forming in her throat.

No answer.

She reached out, hands clammy and trembling, but stopped herself once she saw the sword in Shirou's hand disappear. He was alright! Shirou had once said that the only way his magical swords disappeared was if he willed them to.

"H-Hey, w-we have to go back. I-I promised Efret that we'd play together in the morning. S-So plea-"

The blood drained from Arturia's face.

Shirou collapsed, body unmoving.

* * *

The night was relatively quiet in the town of Bristol, most people having turned in for the night, others busy with different circumstances. Either way, the silence allowed Kay to hear the pacing of his feet against the floor. He clicked his tongue, he should do something better than simply pace. However, he turned his gaze towards the door. Why hadn't Arturia returned home yet? Already he could see a pail of nails by the stalls, but where was the wood? Perhaps he should have asked Sir Ector of Arturia's whereabouts before he departed on a meeting with the town folk. Either way, he was out of the loop. Still though, at least the damn horse was no where in sight. He really didn't know what he would do to it. How many times had it already kicked him down the water well, hidden his belongings, or god forbid _shit_ on his _sword_? The bastard, it knew what it was doing! He could literally picture it, the _humiliation_ as he drew out a shit-stained sword in a duel. What would the world think of him, Sir Kay, The Knight of the Foul End. Rumour has it, each swing sends shit into the opponents eyes. Well _Fuck_ he was beyond livid.

He was forced out of his musings as a steady knock came from his front door. Arturia?

Knock

Knock

Knock

The banging went, as if the person was using something other than their knuckles to knock on the door. The sound was heavy and dull, the kind of sound reminiscent of barnyard animals hitting their stalls.

Kay frowned, this couldn't possibly be Arturia. If it was her, why would she even bother knocking? He drew a hand to the hilt of his sword and quietly made his way towards the door.

Knock

Knock

Kno-

Kay flung the door open. "Do you know the damn ti..m..e..." He trailed off. _Oh god_. He was gaping, mouth open in shock.

Arturia stood in front of him, her forehead red and matted with blood from how hard she was knocking it against the door.

Her face was ashen white, her thin lips quivering under the cover of the moonlight. A thin line of tears trailed down her red and puffy eyes, but she didn't have enough hands to wipe them. And oh hell there was so much blood. She was coated in it. On her back, held fast by her arms, was a wounded and unmoving Shirou.

"Kay...h-help please," she said quietly, unable to muster the will to raise her voice.

For once in twelve long years, Kay was at a lost for words.


	6. Chapter 6

"He's bandaged," Kay said as he frowned. "At this point, there's nothing else we can do for him."

Arturia bowed her head and fumbled with the hem of her bloody tunic. She had yet to change from it since returning from the forest.

Kay pulled out a stool, placed it in front of Arturia, and sat down. "So," He began tentatively. "What happened?"

Arturia shook her head and bit her bottom lip, she wasn't ready to speak yet. She needed to calm down, organize her thoughts, otherwise...

Kay sighed and flicked Arturia on the head. "I know you Arturia, don't try to hole up everything inside you. It never works. Sir Ector knows it, I know it, and you know it."

Arturia turned her head to the side, bangs casting a shadow over her eyes.

"Fine then." Kay huffed and crossed his arms. "If you think you can handle this situation yourself then-"

"No! I-Its j-just," tears were running down Arturia's cheeks as she was uselessly trying to wipe them away. "I-I couldn't do anything, and-and, Shirou he..." Arturia trailed off, the echos of her sniffling reverberating within the room.

Kay said nothing as he stood up and pulled Arturia into a hug. His warmth spread into her, and it was like a damn was suddenly released. All her tension, all her weariness abruptly spewed from within her. She cried, arms pulling her face into the fabric of Kay's shirt. In turn, Kay continued to pat her back till she reduced her crying to sniffles.

"You carried him all the way here, and he didn't die of blood loss?" Kay said after a moment. His eyes glanced outside to the trail of blood leading to his house. "Very smart," he finished, partly to lift the mood, and partly to vocalize his own disbelief.

Still though, Kay focused on a more prompting aspect of Arturia's tale. Gently, he pulled away from Arturia and grasped her hand to inspect it; running a finger along the palm to make sure it was okay. "I thought you said you were wounded?"

Arturia paused in her sniffling and turned to look at her own hand. She had not inspected it in the chaos of the night. Instead of finding pierced and damaged skin layered with bruises, she found nothing aside from dried blood.

Arturia had no words. Kay however turned a calculative eye on Shirou's prone form. _A King must have his allies_. Kay nodded his head and made up his mind. This beast should not be left for children to hunt. Hell, look where it has gotten them. Look what its done to Arturia's first friend.

Kay would not allow anymore pain to befall his little King. It was his _duty_ as the older brother. "Arturia," he began as he placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'm going to need you stay here."

"Why?" Arturia asked as she got control of her tears.

"Just promise me. Whatever happens outside, _don't_ come out." Kay walked away from Arturia and fitted his gear, his armour. His sword fell easily by his side, tucked firmly within its sheath.

"K-Kay, what are you going to do?" Arturia asked, her eyes wide and dialated.

Kay opened the front door and stepped out. "A brother's duty," he replied back. He brought a hand to his chin and clicked his tongue. He would have to make a trip to the Town Hall, inform Sir Ector and rally any able men.

Arturia simply stared at Kay's fading back for as long as she could before the door slowly swung back closed.

* * *

Sir Ector stood at a council of village elders. Some were young, and some were old, only the most experieced were on the council. He was tired and bored out of his mind. Why was a Knight required to attend meetings in regards to economics and town management? He would never know, but perhaps the young men of the council see him as role model of sorts. Although he was simply a minor noble in the town of Bristol, he held prominence with the Serfs and peasants. It was why other nobles held him in low regard. Why associate with the rabble? His response, why associate with the petty?

"Sir Ector, what do you think?" Greyars, the town elder asked.

Surprised by the sudden question, Sir Ector coughed into his hand to buy himself some time. What were they discussing again? Ah, he remembered. It was the broken fences and pastures by the old trade's shop. "I believe it would be in our best interests to scout out the area first. What did the old shopkeeper see exactly?"

A young woman, the only one in the building tentively rose her hand.

"Goodness young lady, just speak yer mind. A daughter of David shouldn't feel so reserved, despite filling in for em," Greyars said.

"Y-Yes," Emily stuttered out. "The Shopkeeper said it was a _beasty_."

Charles, the announcer of the archers competition smirked "Then he is out of his mind."

"Couldn't agree more Lord _Deadsacs_ ," Gerrard responded. "But we can't simply write it off."

"Lord _Deadsacs_!" Charles narrowed his eyes. "Is that any way to address your superior?" Charles made to pull on Gerrard's tunic, but an audible thump stopped him in his tracks.

"There will be no fighting in this house," Greyars said as he eased the grip on his old walking cane. He looked nothing more than the frail old man he was, greying, reddish hair and rounded nose. Now if only the distinct puncture mark on the floor didn't counteract the image. "And Gerrard, there is a time and place for such conduct."

"My apologies, it was done in goo-" Greyars glared. Gerrard sighed. "-Bad faith and will not be done again," Gerrard concluded.

"Good. I do not believe I raised you to be that kind of man." Greyars turned his attention back to Sir Ector. "Your thoughts?"

Sir Ector cleared his throat and straightened his back. Just as Gerrard had said, speculations shouldn't be so easily dismissed. Perhaps it wasn't a beast, but an abnormally sized wolf, or fox? In the end, no one in the room truly knew. Which was why, "Sending a scout is still our best option at the moment." Beast or no beast, they had to know exactly what they were up against.

The door of the town hall suddenly burst open as Kay briskly walked in. "We've got trouble Sir Ector," he said before realizing he'd forgotten to acknowledge the others in the room. With a few hasty bows for cordiance sake, he turned his attention back to Sir Ector. "There is a beast in the woods."

Sir Ector blinked. How would Kay know there's a beast in the woods? His eyes widened. "What happened?" He asked.

"Arthur and the Ashton kid happened," Kay said with a huff. "We're going to have to thank the Ashton later. Not only did he save Arthur, but he healed his injuries before his own." It was an act worthy of a Knight's chivalry.

"The Ashton kid?" Charles asked. The Ashton's were dead. He clicked his tongue, this may pose a problem.

Kay raised a brow. "You might have seen him. His red hair, and piercing eyes are hard to forget."

Emily gasped. They couldn't mean _him_ could they? Her father had asked her to thank him once again for what he'd done, and she was more than willing to.

"Oh, yer talking about the bowman, Red," Gerrard said. "I knew he was nobility, but I didn't think he was an Ashton."

Sir Ector interrupted as he raised a hand to silence the others. Greyars nodded to Sir Ector's actions. Bickering and speculation would not help the matter at hand.

"Explain," Sir Ector said.

Kay opened his mouth and told what Arturia had conveyed to him.

Greyars frowned. "You're sure it wasn't just a wolf?"

Kay answered back without pause. "I trust my family." He turned to Sir Ector. "I'm going to hunt the beast. We just can't let it roam free."

Sir Ector nodded "Notify the women and children to stay in-doors, and that includes you young lady." He gazed at Emily who couldn't seem to formulate a response. Finally, she frowned and looked away from him. He rubbed at his head before he turned to Greyars. "Any able men would be helpful."

Greyar scratched his beard as his gaze fell on Gerrard. The meaning was not lost.

"Me? A bowman in the dark of the woods?" Gerrard said exasperated. Greyar's gaze did not relent. "Fine. Sign me a death wish will you."

Greyars nodded before he turned his attention to the occupants of the room. "I will gather what men I can. The rest of you may go."

Everyone left without a word, each taking with them their individual feelings. Whether it be determination, trepidation, or reluctance, they had their goal. This wasn't a time for words, but action.

* * *

_Curse you stray._

The beast lumbered as it moved towards Bristol. One of its arms was missing, constantly eaten away by flames that refused to extinguish; the effects of its regeneration obsolete. Still though, It smiled. At least the stray was dealt with.

It sniffed the night air. Trouble was brewing.

Bristol was alive with activity, a consequence of its earlier cowardice. But the beast remembered, the boy was injured. Its thoughts drifted back to that horrid blade. It shivered before its goals cemented in its mind. It didn't even matter anymore about reporting a living Ashton to the Blood Packs. The boy _had_ to die. Before he could become something else, something far more troublesome- Another hero sung by the bards.

_An Ashton and a descendant of Beowulf?_

The beast shook its head. It should have all been a damnable legend. A story made up to frighten the younglings, a mere fabled beast hunter.

_But Grendel was real._

Its hairs stood on end. Beowulf must have existed, that horrid blade was proof enough. Hell, the sheer force off its presence was enough to deter it from attacking further. That kind of blood lust- it was unimaginable. It glanced downward, eyes focusing on a dried blood trail.

Soon, soon it would find him.

* * *

Sir Ector travelled in silence as he and the others followed after Kay. He didn't know what to make of the beast, but he wasn't in the best state of mind. He was worried about the children. About the horrors they had faced tonight.

"Get yer head out of the clouds," Gerrard said without tact. Then again, it was more for Sir Ector's benefit. They were hunting a beast, not strolling in the night.

If Sir Ector was offended, he didn't say anything. Kay however had given a pointed glare in his stead, but spoke nothing on the matter.

A small group of armed Knights and voluntary men walked behind them. All of the Knights were armoured with steel plate, but the other men simply wore their garments and leathers for protection. Fear was evident in ther eyes, but that didn't stop them from taking the next step forward. None of them wanted their families in danger. To them, all that mattered in life was their work, and keeping their women and children happy. It was part of their vows of marriage.

"You're sure it would go this way?" A knight asked.

Kay nodded. "We hunt a beast, therefore we follow the blood."

"And the blood leads home," Sir Ector said softly. He glared at Kay. "You left the children alone."

"Not before hiding them away, and taking this." Kay untied the pouch on his belt to reveal blood stained cloth. "Beast's hunt by sent. I have the sent."

The men behind Kay gulped.

Gerrard frowned from the information. "What's to stop it from smellin, little Red?"

Kay smiled wryly. "Herbs."

"Herbs?"

"No time to explain, but they make well for clotting wounds, and smelling like rats ass on a good day." Although admittedly, there were some herbs that had a pleasant smell.

"Fine fine," Gerrard waved off. "Then why are we still goin to yer home. Wouldn't it be better for the beast to come to us?"

"You forget," Sir Ector said before Kay. "That beasts are intelligent, and have eyes. They can differentiate abnormalities between sight and scent just as we do." Why would it veer away from the obvious blood trail without investigation?

The men walked in silence after the response, their torches illuminating the path ahead to Sir Ector's home, and the beast that stood in front of it. The men blinked, faces set aghast.

One of the beast's arms was constantly on fire, reduced to a dull glowing stump. Its eyes were trained on them, teeth bared and body tensed. It had sensed their arrival; nothing could truly mute the sound and vibrations of a group of marching men.

"Ready yourselves!" Sir Ector yelled, relying on experience. "Knights to the front, townsmen to the center, and Gerrard at the back!"

The Beast charged, lifting itself up on two legs.

"Raise your shields!" The Knights complied, grimacing beneath their helms. "Gerrard take aim at the legs!"

"Aie!" Gerrard answered as he proped his bow. He signaled with his eyes to Sir Ector who motioned towards Kay.

"On my mark," Kay said as he eased his way to the forefront of the Knights. Kay's eyes narrowed. "Fire Gerrard!"

 _Don't rush me_. Gerrard traced the path of the beast with his eyes. He had to make his shots count. He drew from his carved quiver, the blessings of the god of huntsmen etched into the wood of his arrows. Ancient hunters called them beannachdan. His ancestors called them _runes_. " _Àirde na gaoithe_." Wind. Fierce wind propelled the arrows forward.

The men braced themselves for impact as two arrows pierced the beasts knees. The beast yelped as it tumbled forward, kicking up dirt and gravel as it fell along with its momentum.

"Swords!" Kay took the initiative and braced himself, his shield out front, and his sword pointed forward like a barb. The Knights followed his example, creating a spiked wall of shields.

"Brace yourselves!" Sir Ector yelled as the beast crashed into the wall of barbed steel.

The Kights were blown away like ragdolls, their swords snapping as they failed to pierce the beast's hide. However, their armour protected them. Some were sprawled up on the ground breathing heavily, while most fell unconscious after a blow to their helms. Meanwhile, the voluntary men stood petrified at the scene, unable to decide if they should run, or fight.

"Our swords are useless!" Kay yelled as he forced himself off the ground. He turned towards Gerrard. "Your arrows are the only things that work!"

Disoriented, the beast kicked at the ground. Its legs flailing uselessly as Gerrard's arrows severed the tendons of the joints.

"Well sucks te be us then; I only got two more of ma specialty arrows left," Gerrard paused, eyes glazing over. "Yeah, bloody hell we're _fucked_."

The beast had stopped flailing and simply tore its legs off. The men stared in horror as the beast simply regenerated its damage. _What were they supposed to do now?!_

"Do not let fear blind you." Sir Ector's voice resounded throughout the chaos. "Observe it. The beast is wary, no doubt under strain from such regeneration." Sir Ector motioned towards Gerrard. "Save your arrows until you can make them count."

Gerrard nodded, and drew an arrow from his regular quiver. The beast reacted instantly and roared at Gerrard. It knew who had damaged it. It _knew_ who it had to kill first.

"Reform the line!" Sir Ector yelled before the beast disappeared into the ground. _This wasn't good, not good at all._

The earth trembled beneath them, fissures forming along the soil. Sir Ector's mind raced as it quickly put together what was about to happen. "Stand on your shields!"

And the world erupted.

* * *

Arturia could hear the commotion outside, could even see the dull flickering of torch flames, but she held still.

" _Don't go outside._ "

Arturia was resting on a chair, her hands clasped in front of her. _What should she do_? She berated herself. Surely it wasn't what she was doing now. She was being utterly useless, but whenever she thought back to it- she shivered. In the end, she had been helpless throughout the night, unable to even help Shirou.

She drew in on herself, breathing slowly to ease her heart. She wasn't a coward. Shouldn't _be_ a coward.

_Only a king can save a ruined country headed for death._

She knew that, she had said so to Kay and Sir Ector after all.

Warily, she stood up on her feet and began to glance around her dimly lit house. It didn't matter if she was scared or felt useless, she _needed_ to do something. A Knight must never allow fear to over take his mind.

Arturia steeled herself. Despite her trembling hands and legs, she walked over to Sir Ector's pile of long wood. He would often use them for fishing, but today Arturia had other ideas. She grabbed one and proceeded to make her way towards the kitchen, all the while her mind continued to fight against her.

_You are a child, unfit to fight beasts. You are a liability._

She clenched her fists.

She shook her head to rid herself of such thoughts. It didn't matter, not anymore. She stared down at the piece of long wood in her hand, and quickly decided to notch a knife at the very end with thick leather and a layer of twine. It wasn't a spear, but it could work well to hide the true weapon. Her enchanted sword. Merlin had once said that only magic can defeat magic, therefore, only magic could defeat magical beast. She wasn't an idiot, albeit it took her a while to determine what Kay planned to do.

_Promise me Arturia._

She shook her head, that was one promise she had never sworn too; not when she _alone_ may have the only weapon able to kill the beast since Shirou was unable. Walking towards the door, she felt the cold air press against her. She shivered, but she took one long glance at Shirou, and quickly hurried on. She couldn't let the beast hurt anymore of her precious people.

* * *

His head was wringing, an annoying dinging that refused to give him peace. He planted his hands on the ground and forced himself up.

Blood trickled down Sir Ector's face as he worked his way onto his feet. Grimacing, he blinked his eyes and quickly assessed his damage. His right wrist was useless; his sword hand now incapacitated, but he still had his dented shield. He turned and sighed in relief. "I knew I raised my boy tough."

"Laugh it up old man," Kay coughed out. "This is only a flesh wound." His chest-plate was dented, and a large gash travelled down his exposed leg. Still though, he stood tall, his mind progressing towards other matters.

Kay turned his attention on Gerrard's sprawled form. He was face down in the dirt, body motionless. Kay frowned. "Get up you fool," he said. "I blocked that blow with my shield." _Gone now,_ he thought absently. No matter, the best defense was a good offense.

"Ya think it you'd be ignored if ya were playin dead, but obviously not. Slave drivers." Gerrard worked his way onto his feet. "At least my bows not broken - just like every other damn person in the area - but you know specifics and all."

"Oh shut up," Kay replied. His expression turned grim. Gerrard was right. Everyone who had come with them was either dead, or wounded with the exception of the voluntary town folk - much good they would do anyway, sticks and hoes may go far in a farm, but not a beast's pelt.

Kay turned his gaze to Sir Ector. Why was he being so quiet?

Sir Ector was staring at the beast, face paling as his eyes drifted to the little blond sneaking behind it from the door of his house. _Nononono, No child no!_ He motioned towards Kay.

Kay saw and he acted, charging toward the beast with sword raised, and catching Arturia's eyes. _Why are you here?_ The message was conveyed.

Arturia paced forward ever so slowly, makeshift spear held in front of her. Guilt ate away at her as soon she made eye contact with Kay, but she had prepared herself before hand. She needed to fight. For Shirou, for her family, she had to protect them. An image of her friend's bloodied body flashed across her mind, and her eyes began to sting from tears. He was alive; he wouldn't die. She didn't want him to leave her. The uncertainty was killing her inside, but all the more reason to protect him now. He had a _chance_ at recovering, but _no_ chance if he was eaten.

The grip on her spear tightened, but Kay struck first. His sword sent sparks flying as it grated against the beast's pelt.

Amused the beast watched as Kay grew frustrated with his lack of progress. Stupid things these humans were. It raised its lone arm and extended its claws.

Kay gulped as his eyes widened in recognition. He had no shield. His sword utterly useless. He was going to die. He knew it, Sir Ector knew it, and Arturia knew it.

"No!" Arturia yelled as she stabbed out with her spear into the beast's eye. It growled out in irritation as its eye began to bleed. The spear had given her enough reach, but it didn't seem to do enough damage to the beast.

Unperturbed, the beast swung its arm down on Kay, merciless and unrelenting.

 _No! Stop please!_ Arturia tossed aside the spear and pulled out her wooden sword, but the motion was to slow.

" _Àirde na gaoithe._ "

The arrow flew in a flash, and the beast smiled. Foolish human. It moved its head - a minor motion - and let the arrow fly uselessly by. It turned its attention back to the fool who dared attack it. The fool was going to die, then the petty bowman. But first, it needed information.

The beast stopped its arm before it could smash against Kay, and instead clasped Kay's helm. It reveled in the looks of panic that flashed across the vermin's faces. _Fear me mortals_. It pulled, dragging the fool into the air by the head and dangling him in front of the blond child. Oh it definitely remembered this child. Jogging its memory, it put together the few words it knew in mortal language. "Where is the boy?"

Arturia's breath hitched. She didn't want Kay to die, but she didn't want Shirou to either. She was shivering, stuck in indecision.

"Where is the boy," the beast repeated.

Sir Ector clenched his fist. He had to make a decison. "Arturia run!" He yelled. He would save Kay by himself somehow, and he also had Gerrard. He couldn't let any harm come to Arturia.

Arturia didn't move, her face pale, and breaths coming out ragged. _What was she supposed to do!_ Listen to Sir Ector? The beast? Damn it damn it, she just didn't know.

"So be it," the beast said as it clenched its hand.

Arturia could hear the crunching of Kay's helm and the pit in her stomach became a bottomless chasm. "S-Stop!" She yelled, but the beast ignored her.

 _Suffer for your choices human,_ the beast idly thought before it furrowed its brow. It could feel tremors traveling through the ground. Strange, the beast lightened its grip on the fool to focus its senses. The tremors were coming from -

Bam!

"L-Lamrei!" Arturia called in relief as her mount barreled into the beast. Kay fell on the ground in a heap, but he was still breathing.

The beat righted itself after the impact. _"What the hell,"_ it spoke in beast tongue.

" _Stay away from the master,"_ was the immediate reply from Llamrei.

" _The tongue of beasts?_ " Another phantasmal beast? The beast thought. How absurd. Still though, it appeared to be fairly young, easy killings. And yet, it would give it a choice as a fellow beast. _"Leave,"_ The beast spoke.

Llamrei did not move.

 _"Then so be it."_ The beast tensed its muscles for battle. Unexpectedly, it wasn't with Llamrei.

Arturia charged, frightened, but resolute, and wooden sword in hand. So many different emotions were raging within her mind. Fear, anxiety, _anger_. So many things had gone wrong tonight and it was this beast's fault.

Familiar glowing interface patterns travelled through the sword and up Arturia's arms. Power filtered through her from her sword, making her faster and stronger.

_Kick._

She ducked beneath the beast's retaliatory strike and kicked out with her reinforced leg. The blow caused the beast to grunt and expose its chest, but she wasn't fooled.

_Dive left._

She followed what her sword and mind relayed for her, barely dodging the snap of serrated teeth.

The beast's eyes widened.

_Strike._

Neck exposed, Atruria's eyes frosted over as she thrusted her sword forward. There was no hesitation from her as the sword pierced into the beast's hide, but the slightest of initial resistance was enough for the beast to divert the blow to its chest.

The beast roared, catching Arturia by surprise as the motion caused her sword to wedge itself into the beast's thick hide. _Oh no._

The beast seemed to grasp the situation despite its pain, and swiftly disarmed Arturia, sending the sword flying from its wound. It barked in satisfaction before back-handing Arturia away.

"Arthur!" Sir Ector yelled as he watched Arturia sail across the air. Rolling across the ground, she skidded to a stop after striking her back against a tree. "Gerrard!"

"Don't rush me!" Gerrard yelled back. He had a single shot left; he _had_ to make it count.

Arturia coughed out blood from her mouth. She hurt. Everywhere. She was aware enough however to realize the blue interface patterns that had travelled across her body were fading. And with it, whatever superhuman feats it granted. She thanked the stars that they didn't instantly disappear as soon as she lost contact with her sword. It was probably why she was still bruised, but alive.

The beast lumbered towards her. _Move! Move!_ She urged herself, but her body was still recovering from the blow.

Sir Ector stood in front of her, dented shield raised. She could see from her position that his right wrist was sprained and unusable. He was old and wounded, there was no way he could take on the beast by himself. "S-Sir Ector," she forced out. " _Please_." _Leave me_.

Sir Ector didn't even give her a glance. There was no way he would allow this beast to get any closer to Arturia.

The beast smiled at the vermin's struggles. It loved it when its prey came to the understanding that they were powerless. Who did this old man think he was to stand up to it? He worse than a fool. No matter, it was simply more blood spilled.

It marched forward, but a voice suddenly took it by surprise.

"Hey _beasty_ , you remember me?" Kay smirked beneath his bloodied helm as he grasped Arturia's wooden sword, power rushing through him in the form of blue interface patterns. "Pay backs going to be a bitch," he muttered with a ferocious smile.

He could cut the beast now, and if it bleeds...

Kay roared as he charged forward, breaking through the distance towards the beast in mere seconds.

* * *

He could remember it vividly. That day atop a distant hill overlooking the horizon.

The child like innocence of her smile.

Her regrets.

Her motivations.

Her child like happiness.

He remembered how much it hurt just to keep his mouth from uttering the simplest of words. _Please, don't go._

For surely, they would have been enough to utterly crush her convictions. To ruin her. To forsake her. And he could never do that to her.

He loved her. More than words could ever convey in their simplicity.

It did not matter if he would sacrifice his happiness for the sake of the woman he loved. No matter the pain, no matter the suffering of his own being, so long as she was happy.

A recollection.

A moments precious beauty.

_"Shirou," teal eyes softened as they stared into bronze. "I love you."_

A distant memory forever portrayed in time. A single wish left unspoken even as the coming of the new dawn took her away.

Hardship after hardship.

Step after step.

Road after road.

His heart wrenched, dying and withering away under the brunt of his ideals. Yet he would not fall, and would never surrender despite his difficulties. He made a promise, an _oath_. He was a sword seeking his cherished wielder.

He would search, and search, and search, searching endlessly, never resting.

Year.

After year.

After year.

Yet still he persisted.

And when all hope was gone, she appeared, his _single_ speck of light.

_"State thy name."_

It was a chance meeting, something that should have been impossible in his life time. Yet there she was, her presence healing his fractured heart. How many years had it been? How long had he suffered? He couldn't stop himself from staring as if she would disappear in the next second. He struggled to voice his feelings, and it had showed in his posture.

_I love you._

Yet he couldn't say it; not now with the way she was.

She was different from before, smaller and lacking in feminine features; even acting as a man as expected of her.

She was less dignified.

Less sophisticated.

Less articulate.

But all the same, it was her. From her tresses of blond hair, to the way she walked, and to the way she spoke and dressed. It was her.

And this time, he wouldn't lose her.

 _Never_ again.

He reached out a hand, and bronze eyes flickered open.

* * *

Kay breathed in deeply as the movement stung his wounds, but he was on an adrenaline high and didn't care much for it. He could feel strength flowing through his body from his connection to Arturia's sword. What a marvel it was.

His sword made contact with the beast just as Llamrei tackled it to the side, sending them all flying away from Sir Ector and Arturia. _Good_.

"Welcome to hell!" Kay roared from atop the beast, stabbing down with his sword.

The beast growled as it felt the sword penetrate its back, glaring at Llamrei who was pinning it down under its weight. " _Get off of me traitor!_ " The beast yelled.

Llamrei didn't respond.

 _Damn it damn it, if only I had my other arm._ The beast cursed the strays name. After a decade and still it causes so many problems. The beast pulled back its only arm to strike at Llamrei, but its arm was stabbed and pinned to the earth by Kay. _The god damn vermin_!

"Gerrard now!" Kay yelled.

" _Àirde na gaoithe!_ " Gerrard released his arow and bore into the beast's skull and vertically through his body.

The beast went limp as it was separated into two halves.

"Bloody hell - We did it!" Gerrard yelled, mouth open in shock.

There was nothing left of the beast's skull, and its body was severed.

Sir Ector sighed in relief, the night was over. He turned his attention towards Arturia. She buckled under his gaze. Words were not needed to transmit the amount of anger he was feeling at his youngest charge. The amount of danger she had put herself in, the way she refused to listen to his instruction. Make no mistake, he saw the way she glanced away from him when she was approaching behind the beast. She _ignored_ his warning.

He helped Arturia up onto her feet despite the anger swelling inside him. There was a time and place for such actions. Tonight, tonight everyone needed rest. The beast was taken care of, and all that was left was to inform Greyars of the matter and Gerrard should have no trouble reporting.

Kay swallowed and let his tension fade. He was beyond tired, he wsa exhausted. He turned towards Llamrei, a mutual consensus transferred between the two. There was no need for thanks, neither of the two liked each other anyway.

Kay and Llamrei relaxed as they both allowed themselves to fall across the ground. It was a mistake.

The beast's flesh writhed and crumpled together in a heap as the beast reformed. All to quickly, Kay realized he had left Arturia's sword stabbed into the beast's flesh, and he made to grab for it. However, it was to late. It was only thanks to Llamrei who shoved him out of the way of a reforming bone that he didn't get skewered. Llamrei was a different story. The reformed bone, though not hard enough to pierce Llamrei's skin had enough force behind it to send Llamrei flying unconscious.

The beast formed once again, breathing heavily and eyes unfocused. Arturia's wooden sword was still stuck in its side, jutting out from the beast's back. Though Kay had lost possession of the sword, it inhibited the beast's movements.

Still though, Gerrard was out of arrows, and they had just lost the only other means of damaging the beast. They were utterly out of options.

 _Stupid Kay, stupid,_ Kay berated himself. He shouldn't have let go of the sword. If he hadn't, maybe Llamrei wouldn't have been knocked out. The interface pattern running across his body began to fade, but not before he used it to position himself in front of Sir Ector and Arturia.

Gerrard hid within the cover of the trees just as the beast's eyes reformed.

The beast's brow twitched in irritation as it felt the massive dip in its magical reserves. It was done playing. No more would it suffer. No more would it be made a fool. Everything was going to die.

The beast lunged clumsily forward, but still managed to knock both Kay and Sir Ector to the side with its arm. Arturia's eyes widened as the beast's maw descended on her.

"No!" Kay yelled. _It was his fault. It was all his fault!_

Arturia was frozen, she couldn't move -

"Ah damn it - I hate playin the hero!" Gerrard yelled as he came out of hiding and grabbed Arturia by the waist before the beast could maul her to death. "Stop struggling ya brat, you're heavy."

Arturia cared little for the comment, where before she might have been indignant about it. However, both her luck and Gerrard's were running out.

Gerrard couldn't maintain his speed while carrying Arturia and the beast was gaining on them quickly. _Damn it old man, this is why I said I didn't want to go_. Gerrard wheezed before he felt the sharpness of the wind behind him and promptly turned around to see the beast's claw about to strike. _Mother of_ -

The beast faltered.

_Wretched filth._

A shiver travelled down the beast's spine, the granule of the voice sparking its primal fear. Its gaze snapped over to the right, and at the entrance of the house. There, a bare-chested _warrior_ stood grinning viciously - rough brownish hair, and tribal tattoos travelling down the length of his scarred arms. Most of all was the presence of that _cursed_ sword.

_KILL KILLL KILL KILLL!_

The sword conveyed in its blood lust. The beast took one step back, then two.

Noticing the beast's odd behaviour, everyone looked in the direction of its gaze.

"Shirou!" Arturia was the first to call as she struggled against Gerrard's grip. She turned towards him and glared. "Let go!" She yelled. Shirou was standing before her, bandaged, and wearing his red coat, but still bleeding from his wounds. He shouldn't be fighting in his condition regardless of him being armed.

The beast shook its head and the image of the warrior faded into the boy. _Descendant of Beowulf,_ its mind spoke. Too dangerous to be kept alive. It quelled its primal fear under the strength of its will. The boy _must_ die.

Shirou staggered as he surveyed the carnage outside. bodies littered the yard, dead? Unconscious? He didn't know until he could get a better look. Still though, his eyes focused on the form of the approaching beast. Good, he thought idly; it was leaving Arturia and Gerrard alone.

Still though, where was Efret? The question was left unanswered.

He brought a hand to his face in an effort to stop the dull pain in his head. It wasn't working.

_Use me! Use me!_

He could hear a voice, urging him to lash out with his sword. He complied, allowing the sword to draw his body taught into a ready form, sword held forward.

 ** _Hrunting_** , the Beast Hound of the Red Plains, the red sword of seeking annihilation. It didn't even require any prana for him to trace; it simply popped into his mind and insisted to be used.

He waited for the beast to approach.

* * *

The beast was hesitating, its slow movement reflecting its inner turmoil, but still it pushed on.

_Do you fear me beast?_

The image of the warrior faded in and out of the beast's vision. It had to get a hold of itself. It wasn't facing a hardened warrior, but a mere child. All it had to do was step in, and strike quick before the boy could even lift so much as a finger. Its back twitched in pain and the idea was quickly discarded.

The sword stuck in the beast's back was causing it problems, but it was difficult to remove without the use of a second hand. It just couldn't reach for the sword with the arm it had left. It reassessed its plan. Step in, obscure visibility, and then maul the boy to death.

_Do you really think that would work?_

_"Shut up!"_ The beast growled at the apparition before it attacked.

The warrior tensed as the beast lunged at him, Hrunting thrumming in his hands.

As the beast clawed tufts of dirt into the air with its arm, the warrior moved despite the low visibility. Dust matted his body and irritated his eyes, but he made sure to react upon seeing the figure of the beast.

Hrunting flew up in a red arc that severed the beast's remaining arm.

The beast screamed, clenching its teeth to bare the pain.

 _Does it hurt?_ The warrior goaded before his expression hardened. _How many men and women have you killed? Children left to die unattended?_

The beast's arm was not regenerating, a thick mist stemming from the site of severance. _Why wasn't it healing?!_ It ignored the warrior's questioning and struggled to come back to reality. This wasn't a warrior, it was a boy -Just a boy!

Its eyes flickered to the warrior's, and nothing seemed to matter anymore. It would have to return to the blood packs and beg for mercy. Perhaps then, the Lord would - no. The Lord would never help kill the blood of Ashton's as written in the pact of old. Where the hell was the youngling it had coerced into accompanying him to the damn village! The youngling was only instructed to hunt fair game - so where the hell was he? It could have used the help.

It doesn't matter, it needed to buy time. To find a window of opportunity to escape.

The beast slowly backed away from the warrior, posture bent to spring into action.

 _You're frightened,_ the warrior spoke slowly, scowling in irritation.

The beast said nothing, still waiting. However the warrior had had enough.

 _There will be no mercy._ The warrior raised his sword.

"No!" The beast lashed out in a panic that proved ineffective without hitting its target. However, the warrior flinched when an unexpected mound of sharp rock punctured his elbow.

The beast didn't notice the injury in its fear and decided to flee. It had its opportunity.

* * *

Shirou winced from the injury on his elbow, but it was more than enough time for the beast to run away.

He glanced at Hrunting, feeling the odd hum present within the sword. It was rare for him to be unable to distinguish any irregularities in his projections - even more so a Noble Phantasm - but it had just never happened before. Did it have something to do with his subsiding headache? Or was it simply the difference in era? Regardless, Hrunting was acting strangely.

He furrowed his brows in sudden thought. The beast had been acting abnormally, its eyes glazed and unfocused, was it the fault of the sword? Either way, he would have to answer his questions later. For now he had to focus on putting down the beast before it could kill another innocent life.

He traced his bow, eyes gauging the distance the beast had travelled. It would be close, but he could probably make the shot before the beast could reach the tree line.

However, his injuries were preventing him from taking action. The wound on his stomach aside, the one sustained on his elbow was more problematic. He couldn't draw his bow let alone steady it to fire.

He signaled with his eyes. He needed help, anyone would do. Quickly, traced the outline of his black bow in hand and altered it to allow more room to secure the bow.

Kay came running despite his injuries. "What do you need me to do?" He asked promptly.

"Help me prop my bow."

Kay nodded, but was unsure with how to proceed. Sure he could hold the bow steady, but what was Shirou going to fire? Let alone if he could even draw the bow string. Still though, Kay held the bow steady with both of his arms and waited for Shirou to proceed.

Shirou clicked his tongue as his arm wouldn't cooperate with him; Not with his joint torn at the elbow. Running out of options, it was Arturia who solved his problems.

Her eyes said it all as she and Gerrard approached.

There was a growing red bruise on Gerrard's face, but Shirou pretended he didn't see that Arturia had slapped him to get herself free. He knew first hand how stubborn Arturia could be, and how commendable Gerrard was to hold onto her for so long. Granted, he would have to buy the man a drink for his efforts, perhaps a meal even.

Arturia didn't waste any time as she ran up to Shirou. She had spent enough time with him to discern his intentions, and right now she knew the source of his struggles.

"I'll help," she said as she knelt beside Shirou to help him draw the bow string. She didn't have much experience firing a bow, but with Shirou there to guide her, she wouldn't fail.

"Thanks," Shirou said before he turned his attention on Hrunting. He closed his eyes, and altered the blade filling it with prana beyond its limits. _**"I am the bone of my sword."**_

Kay and Arturia said nothing, but their expressions conveyed their disbelief as the sword that so easily dealt with the beast morphed into a spiral that crackled with latent energy. With what they've seen tonight, neither of them could really find it in themselves to react any more than they have. Gerrard simply whistled as he rubbed at his face, wincing slightly from the feeling, but regardless chose to support Sir Ector who was having difficulty standing.

Setting the arrow, Shirou and Arturia pulled the bow string as Kay kept the bow firm. Arturia's hands were shaking from the strain, but a glance at Shirou renewed her resolve. _Steady, steady,_

" ** _Hrunting!_** " Shirou yelled.

The beast didn't even see it coming. Not when it pierced its back and sent Arturia's sword flying, and certainly not when its body tore apart in blazing smolders that were quickly reduced to ashes.

_Rest in pieces, kin of Grendel._

Startled by a sudden voice, Shirou noticed the image of a man standing before him. Bare-chested and scarred face grinning at him in approval. _"A fine hunt young one,"_ The warrior said as his body began to fade along with the remains of Hrunting. He looked thoughtful for a moment before next he spoke. _"The bird did commendably well to injure such a beast."_

Shirou blinked as the warrior disappeared. _What did he mean_? Efret was fine, he _had_ to be. Doubt entered his mind, but he trusted Efret.

"Finally!" Gerrard yelled as he approached Shirou with Sir Ector hanging over his shoulder. "Red, you do not how long I've tried killin that thing, it took me all my specialty arrows."

Kay frowned at Gerrard. "Careful with him," he motioned towards Sir Ector. "He's getting old."

"Not old enough," Sir Ector said with a grunt as he eased himself away from Gerrard and towards the children. "We will have words tomorrow," he said to Arturia who was remaining oddly silent.

Behind the group, the voluntary men stood awkwardly. They had contributed little to the battle, and simply hid behind the shields of the knights. "Ugh, what would you like us to do sir?" They asked Sir Ector.

Sir Ector didn't waste a moment. "Gather the wounded and the dead, they do not deserve to remain here on the field of battle. Home is where the heart lies, and their families must be worried just as much as all of yours."

The voluntary men nodded. They were mostly peasants with wives and children waiting for them. Sharing a grateful look with Sir Ector, the men soon cleared the area along with the deceased and wounded. No doubt, all had seen something beyond their wildest imaginations tonight. _Magic,_ it was real. And the boy who could utilize it, and the other child and man who shot magic arrows - Oh god they really did have a lot to talk about. About the _Beast Hunter, The Blond Sword Child, and the exploits of Sir Kay._

"Gerrard," Sir Ector called. Gerrard focused his gaze on Sir Ector. "Go with them, no doubt Greyars wants a report to turn into Barron Wolfred."

Gerrard nodded his acceptance. He was done with the night, and he wished to go home and stock up on his arrows.

Shirou, Arturia, Sir Ector, and Kay were left alone at the front of the house.

"Come children, lets turn in for the night," Sir Ector said.

"I'm a child no longer," Kay argued, but didn't deny he wanted to turn in for the night. _Where the hell did that bloody horse go,_ he thought absently as he looked around. Well whatever.

Shirou agreed with Sir Ector. He really did need to go home and check up on Efret, but when he turned to leave, a a hand on his sleeve prevented him from doing so.

Arturia refused to meet his gaze, eyes leveled on the ground. The message however, was clear: don't go.

Shirou's gaze softened. Saber had acted similarly before when she was worried about him, but that was only when he was acting stupid. Then again, he might have had done something stupid tonight. He changed his plans to stay with Arturia till she was ready to let him go. He remembered the lengths Saber was willing to go to protect him, and decided he should do the same.

The four of them walked quietly to the house, but Sir Ector continued to glance at his youngest charge. He knew that face. He knew it very well. Should he warn the boy? No, he'd rather watch. Besides, he had already warned Arturia not to bottle up her emotions. There was always a breaking point.

The door clicked closed.

"You idiot!" Arturia slapped Shirou in the face, and buried her own face into his chest. "I-I thought that you were...I thought that-"

Shirou's face stung, but he ignored it since he could feel his shirt dampening. "Y-Your an idiot!" He wrapped his arms around Arturia, trying to soothe her while looking to Sir Ector, or Kay for help. Conveniently, they were occupied with their wounds.

"Idiot idiot idiot," Arturia continued to mutter.

Shirou sighed. Tentatively, he cupped the back of Arturia's head and gently ran a hand through her hair. _Lilacs and_ _daises_ , the scent wafted into his nose. He cleared his thoughts, he could feel Arturia sobbing. He was guilty, but he had no regrets. No matter the cost to himself, Arturia would always be priority. "I'm sorry Arthu-"

"Arturia."

Shirou glanced at Sir Ector and Kay. Arturia's statement had grabbed their attention. Sir Ector said nothing, but he could see the surprise on Kay's face.

"Arthu-"

Arturia pulled her face away from Shirou and glared at him. Her cheeks were puffy and red, tears still evident from the moisture of her eyes. "It's Arturia! I'm not a boy so stop with that name!"

Shirou quailed under the pressure of her gaze; he couldn't say anything. What could he possibly do in this sort of situation? He slowly raised a hand, and brushed away the dried blood creasing Arturia's forehead. She twitched, but didn't shy away from his touch. She had fought for him just as much he had fought for her. His eyes softened before pulling Arturia close and whispering into her ear, "I know."

He could feel her body tense from his words, but it was expected. What he didn't expect was the way she wrapped her arms around him and once again pressed her face against his chest. "A thousand lunches." Her voice came out muffled. "Enough to feed a _kingdom_."

Shirou smiled wryly as he hugged her back, resting a hand on the back of her head. "On my honour."

Arturia peered up at Shirou with her eyes. "Promise?"

"Promise."

In the ensuing silence that followed next, Sir Ector quietly slipped out of the room followed by a reluctant Kay.

* * *

"Quit thinking about it," Sir Ector said evenly to Kay.

"But was it the correct thing to do?" Kay asked.

"It shouldn't matter. Friends and allies shouldn't be keeping secrets, and that includes you as well." Sir Ector stared at Kay, waiting for his response.

"I understand," Kay replied a moment later, but was confused when Sir Ector's gaze didn't relent.

"Well?" Sir Ector asked. "Do you not have something to tell me?"

"No sir, I don't," Kay replied confused. What could he possibly have to inform Sir Ector off? Unless he found out about Ellisa! He began to sweat under Sir Ector's gaze. It wasn't even his fault, _she_ came onto _him_. But he didn't refuse either - Oh god, Sir Ector knew, he _knew_.

Sir Ector sighed before pulling Kay in close by the scruff of his grey tunic. "Kay," Sir Ector began slowly. "Did I not properly teach you the Knight's Code of Honour?"

"O-Of course you did," Kay stuttered, eyes glancing away from Sir Ector's. "W-What are you getting on about."

"It's cowardly to poison your blade." Sir Ector pointed out.

Kay stilled. _What the hell?_ His blade was probably lost outside somewhere when he had discarded it to use Arturia's.

"Of course," Kay readily agreed. "No respectable knight would do such a thing."

"Then why coat your blade in..." Sir Ector gestured with his hands to Kay's blade which somehow ended up propped by the barn stalls.

Kay followed Sir Ector's gaze, and blanked.

_Sir Kay, Knight of the Foul End._

"I'm going to kill that horse!"


	7. Chapter 7

Sir Anders was not a patient man, rather he was _impulsive_. Sure it helped keep him alive on the battle field by taking the initiative, but he had to remember that impulsiveness was just as much a curse as it was a boon.

"For the last god damned time," Sir Anders began in frustration, hands clenched into fists. "I'm just _trying_ to help you."

The glowing bird glowered back at him from within the animal cage he had placed it in.

In hindsight, arguing with a bird inside an enclosed room might not have been the best idea. More so because he could vaguely hear the whispers of his knight brothers in the other rooms adjacent to his, but he couldn't be picky with opportunities. He wasn't a fool, and he wasn't crazy. The thing understood him, he had no doubts. If it more or less understood the blond child when it decided not to interfere in Palamid's duel, it should damn well understand him. _So why was it being so stubborn?!_

He restrained himself from stomping on the floor of his living quarters. Palamid had already broken his chairs - after only a damn week of working as a farmer - but nonetheless, the remains were callously left strewn across the floor. He sighed; another mess he would have to clean up on top of the rest of the clutter in the room. It didn't help that the only lighting he had came from a tiny window facing out into Lord Wolfred's open practice fields. From his position he could see them, his fellow knight brothers striking practice swords against sturdy leather bound posts. All of them, at least vaguely, speculating his tardiness. In a way it was fortunate that he only had a single window to illuminate the room; the truth that he was talking with a bird far too much of an embarrassment to subject himself to.

He sighed as he let his mind wander to the sound of ocean waves, trying to relax himself. Bristol was a port town by the South-West region of England who's main means of trade involved sea food caught on fishing boats. It was also why the townsfolk feared Saxon invaders. Saxons always arrived from the seas. It only made sense that Lord Wolfred positioned his manor and Knight's quarters directly adjacent to the ocean to intercept enemy invasion before they reached the main land.

Lord Wolfred was a wise leader.

Visibily calmed, Sir Anders turned his attention back on the bird. He scratched his head, he had to try a different approach. Still though, why couldn't the damn thing just remain unconscious? From the moment he found the bird injured in the forest he should have considered just leaving it there. It was stabbed in three places by a set of long claws, and so it probably would have died through extensive bleeding. However, he knew the bird, at least just briefly from his encounter with the blond named Arthur. In short, he saw a chance in an unexpected encounter. He took it and decided to nurse the bird back to health at his home in the Knight's quarters. The trouble only began after the damn bird was bandaged, then woke up and discovered it was in a cage. Granted, the cage was there for his own protection against the abnormal bird.

"Alright," Sir Ander's said as he raised his hands to show no harm before pulling out a slender piece of oak. "This is a splint," he stated. He motioned towards the bird's broken wing. "It will help you heal." _Not that it needs it_ , Sir Ander's mind wandered. The wounds he had just bandaged up were healing under small flickering flames stemming from the bird. _They weren't there before_ , he continued to muse, staring at the flames. _Perhaps its healing was based on conscious effort?_

_"Out."_

Sir Anders looked around, bewildered. There was no one else in the room.

 _"Out,"_ the voice continued to repeat.

Sir Anders frowned and placed the splint on the floor to look around the room. He was alone wasn't he?

_"Out!"_

"...Out already Sir Anders!" The voice came from his closed door. The tension left his body as he realized one of his knight brothers was calling him. "Morning duties are due and yer not shirking yours to me."

"Fine, I'm coming." Sir Anders turned his attention back on the bird before picking up the splint and placing it in front of it. "I don't suppose you could do it yourself could you?" Shrugging, Sir Anders quickly left to avoid the suspicion of his fellow Knights.

Efret rested its throbbing head on the floor, trying to quell its rising head ache. _Stupid human_. All it wanted to do was get out. Besides it healed better in the sunlight, not some dim-lit room in a cage no less.

Efret frowned at the wooden cage. It could burn it, it really could, but for now it had to focus on its regeneration. It took solace in the fact that it could still vaguely feel the connection it had with the master. The master was alright and had not succumbed to his wounds. In the end, that was all that mattered. It wasn't like this cage could truly hold it, and it wasn't like it was unfamiliar with the human who accosted it.

Efret would get out - the fires of its wings ignited as they drew mana from the air, but failed to combust the wood around it - eventually.

* * *

Kay peered out the window, watching as the little blond disappeared into the foliage of the Ashton forest in her excitement. "She's gone," he said.

Sir Ector grumbled a response, gaze set on Arturia's wooden sword. From appearance alone, nothing seemed out of the ordinary - wooden hilt, pommel, and sword length - but he knew of the magic now present in the sword.

He grasped the sword's hilt, watching as blue interface patterns travelled up its length and a majority of his sword arm. Suddenly he was a young man again, his old joints and weakened muscles re-invigorated by a sudden inflow of energy. It felt like lightning was coursing through his veins, but the pleasant kind; just a slight tingling sensation beneath his skin.

"Careful old man," Kay smiled wryly. "I know that look on your face, and I know it feels like you can take on anything right now, but don't get any ideas. You retired a long time ago."

Sir Ector grunted as he reluctantly let go of Arturia's sword. "Well I suppose a grown Knight wielding a child's wooden sword doesn't paint the best image."

"Would you really care?" Kay crossed his arms. "A sword sharp enough to cut a beast's hide, and durable enough to withstand the force of the Ashton's attack is not often come by."

Sir Ector smiled at Kay's response. "Point indeed," he said before he began to ponder on a different aspect of the previous night. "The boy called the attack **_Hrunting_**?"

Kay nodded, he was too close to the boy to have misheard. Yet why would the name of the attack matter?

Sir Ector furrowed his brows. He was familiar with the name from a childhood folktale he could barely recall. The story was more prevalent in his home town so he would have to go there to seek his answers. Either way, he would keep it as a memo. But on to more important matters, he would first have to seek answers from the boy about the specifics of his magic. He creased his brow as he realized he should have questioned the Ashton before he left earlier in the morning to look for his companion: Efret from Arturia's words. The boy was probably another Merlin, a child wizard; another puzzle impossible to solve with all the missing pieces.

_Not all 'Wizards' like to reveal their magic to the common folk._

He sighed as he couldn't really fault Shirou for his actions. The Ashtons were assassinated due to suspicions of their involvement in delving in an art beyond mortal control. A world changing magic of some sort. Based on what he had previously seen of Shirou's 'magic' perhaps there was a genuine motive to the Ashton assassination - not that he would condone the actions of assassins, but in this very instant, he understood their reasoning. Therefore, his eyes once again glanced over at Arturia's practice sword, trying to comprehend what had been done to it to no avail.

_Not all 'Wizards' like to reveal their magic to the common folk._

Blasted Wizards, secretive lot; well at least the ones he knew, and weren't in hiding to further their magical abilities. As far as he was concerned, Merlin was the only genuine Wizard. Not only was his magic openly displayed, but he used it for the benefit of King Uther as Britain's most famous Wizard. Shirou on the other hand, had yet to explain anything about his magic, but then again he was friends with Arturia. In the end, that was all that mattered, but a little prying surely wouldn't hurt. If that didn't work, there was one thing he was confident in.

Merlin would know.

* * *

Arturia walked carefully through the foliage of the forest, a tad depressed at the confiscation of her sword. She stared at the spear she had received from Kay instead, and frowned in displeasure. Sure she could use a spear, but her favoured weapon had always been a sword.

The crunching of leaves beneath her feet echoed across the tranquility of the forest. It was early morning, a time where the sound of birds cawing seemed to add a layer of mystery and wonder to the worn forest path.

She pulled her grey tunic closer as a gust of wind caused her to shiver. She regretted not bringing her cloak. It was foolish of her as she knew that the summer was near its end. The _cold_ would be coming soon, and a blanket of white would fall over the land. Before then, she hoped that Efret would be found.

Her eyes drifted to Shirou who walked closely up ahead. He was an Ashton, and he was not a child raised by fairies. It had taken her long enough to come to terms with the fact, but she had to stop acting like a child. If she had called for help last night rather than move on her own...

She watched Shirou attentively. She could tell from the way his eyes were glancing back and forth that he was frustrated at himself. She had seen that look too many times on her own face when she blamed herself for her faults. Besides, it was an exact mirror of her own face last night. Sweat gathered on her palms as she swallowed slowly. It was her fault that Shirou got injured. Her fault that Efret was missing.

They walked slowly through the forest, making sure nothing was unchecked. Their efforts payed off in the from of singed wood.

"Efret must have been here," Shirou said as he touched the burnt wood. "He was fighting," Shirou closed his eyes, picturing the scene that ensued. "Running after taking an injury."

Arturia made to speak, but held her tongue. Instead she decided to eye her surroundings. Her eyes widened. "Over there," she said, fingers pointed. Another scorch mark, followed by another.

Shirou grunted. "One of Efret's wings must have been injured." Shirou paused before frowning. "It isn't like Efret to run into trees."

"The beast was chasing." Arturia observed the flattened grass. It wouldn't have mattered before as many animals reside in the forest, but this particular trail was following in Efret's direction.

Shirou was silent for a moment before he decided it was time to move on.

Following the trail, the two soon found themselves at a small clearing. Craters littered the area, small bits of jagged rock wedged into nearby trees. Shirou's eyes narrowed on the tree bark, noting the amount of strength necessary to achieve such an outcome. Based on the craters around the area, most of the rocks were unearthed from the soil.

_One of the beast's arms was constantly eaten away by flame._

This was probably where it happened, Shirou rationalized as he inspected a crater. "The beast was playing with Efret, amused after injuring Efret's wing."

Arturia brought a hand to her chin, unable to add anything to Shirou's deductions. She creased her brow in frustration, an action Shirou took notice of.

"The path we followed, there were no craters till now," Shirou explained.

Prompted by Shirou, Arturia put together an image in her mind. It was last spring, and Sir Ector had brought her out hunting for red deer. Most of the time was spent searching, and even when the deer was found, it took a great deal of time to finish the job.

Suddenly it clicked.

_No need to waste energy now, we have it._

Sir Ector had managed to score the deer a flesh wound deep enough to hinder the deer's movement. From there, regardless of where it went, She and Sir Ector had simply followed at a leisurly pace until the deer wore itself out. "The beast was confident in its kill," she muttered.

"Exactly, and Efret used it to its advantage." Shirou let out a breath. "This is probably where Efret launched a successful counter attack, and enraged the beast." The destruction around was evident to the beast's rage.

Shirou walked around the clearing, plucking a feather tangled in the foliage, and inspecting the missing chunk of a tree. His eyes narrowed. "This is where the battle took a turrn for the worse." Shirou ran a hand over the damaged tree's surface, watching thoroughly as bark chipped away, brittle as paper. "The beast managed a solid blow that not only connected with Efret, but disfigured this tree as well. Based on the direction of the attack, Efret should have landed over -"

A rustle in the leaves halted Shirou's deductions. He motioned for Arturia to stay behind him, but she would have none of it as she remained firm with her spear ready in her hands.

 _Who did Shirou think she was_? Arturia fumed. There was no way he could expect her to leave him alone, not when she could still picture him lying in the dirt, bleeding and motionless everytime she closed her eyes. There was just no way. She made her point by pushing past Shirou and moving in first.

She nearly yelped in surprise when Shirou grabbed her arm and yanked back hard. " _What_?" She hissed.

Shirou patted her shoulder and made sure he had her attention by drawing his face in close enough for their noses to touch. "Together," he whispered.

Shirou's words didn't register in Arturia's mind, to preoccupied with forcing down the blush that she could feel was already crawling up to her ears. Too close, he was too close! She could feel the warmth of his breath, and the concern evident in his eyes. "Fine," she muttered out, eyes glancing diminutively to the ground as she fiddled with the grip of her spear.

"Together," Shirou repeated.

Arturia took a breath, and nodded her head. "Together."

Moving quietly, they crept through the foliage and in the direction of the noise until they were right beside it.

_3...2...1_

Shirou jumped out first, arms raised to trace his weapon, but faltered upon noticing his adversary.

"Ashton?"

"Sir Anders?"

* * *

Word was spreading in town, of magic and beasts.

Charles snorted as he filtered the whispers and utter lunacy of the town's folk; his immaculate red cloak covering his inner blue tunic and black leggings, snagging and tearing on a splintered sign post. He didn't notice as he was too absorbed in thought.

It was all just another child's tale, Charles surmised. As a member of the upper echelons of nobility by relation, he - unlike the rabble of peasants around him - was educated. Beasts? A simple exaggerated animal. Magic? Mere smoke and mirrors. _Beast Hunter? A Sword Child?_ Utterly preposterous. He had more important matters to deal with, namely if an Ashton truly did live.

He walked carefully down the street, mindful of the filth gathering on his boots after every step. How filthy. His gaze wandered to the simple homes around him, not a pound of elegance to be seen. _Peasants._

Now the Ashton's, they had class befitting nobility. Even now he could remember them vividly: the Ashton's exquisite hues of purple, blue, and gold aligning the interior of their manor in what had been the greatest ball he had ever seen. He envied them just as much as he had looked up to them as a role model of sorts. Now if only he _hadn't_ inherited their land.

If an Ashton truly did live, then the thousands of acres of land that now belonged to him, would therefore be delegated back to Ashton control by way of birthright and noble blood. Not only would his influence drop, he would no longer be able to receive the tariffs from the serfs working the land. All his luxuries born from trade, _gone_.

He shivered and decided to distract himself in the foolishness of the crowd around him.

"Isn't he familiar? I just can't put a name..." One peasant spoke.

So the peasants knew of him? Of course, he had been the one to host that farce of a competition.

"A name? Wasn't he Chart?"

A vein throbbed on his head. These ruffians, can they not even remember the name of their betters? He glowered at the people around him.

"Quiet you all," a shoptender working his stand said as he gave Chalres a measuring look before recognition dawned.

 _Finally_ , Charles thought.

The shopkeeper glared at the crowd before clearing his throat, ready to claim a business opportunity by giving proper recognition to the noble. "Can't you see?" The man leered before giving a toothy smile to Charles. "You're in the presence of Lord _Deadsacs_." It was only luck and a good ear that allowed the shopkeeper to hear the name of this noble, partly due to the blond child and archer at a certain competition.

Something exploded in Chalres mind, whether from the sheer humiliation, or the fact that a god damned goat just snatched his wig again, it didn't matter. Either way, his anger was directed at a single man. "Bastard I'll have your head!"

The shopkeeper backed away, Charles stepped forward. "Lord Deadsacs please-"

 _To hell with it all_. Charles raised the sleeves of his tunic and chaos ensued in the market area.

* * *

Shirou eyed the rather plain estate as he drew closer, thoughts drifting back to earlier in the morning.

_Well uhm, oh, I have your bird?_

Sir Anders had said when he noticed Arturia step out of the shrubs. He had explained that he had found Efret injured and decided to nurse the bird back into health as a sign of friendship with Arturia. Something in which Arturia didn't buy at all as she remembered Sir Anders's objective, namely Shirou.

Still though, it was why Shirou found himself alone at the front of Lord Wolfred's estate to meet the Lord himself. Arturia had been forced to stay behind as Sir Ector had chosen then to begin Arturia's punishment for the previous night's recklessness.

Patiently, Shirou knocked on the door and waited for a response. A disgruntled Sir Anders and a narrow eyed Efret was not what he was expecting.

"Take him Ashton," Sir Anders grunted as he let Efret perch on Shirou's shoulder. "Just take the damn thing away." There was nothing left of his room. A fluke ember of some sort lit his quarters on fire. His eye twitched as he stared accusingly at Efret. _Devil_.

Shirou raised a brow at Efret.

 _"Splint, lit fire."_ Efret shrugged before relaxing. The master was okay, it wasn't going to be alone again and that was all that mattered.

Efret began to preen its good wing, but paused as it noticed a change in elevation.

"No," was Sir Anders immediate response as Shirou presented Efret back to him. His long blond hair fell loosely behind him, the small thread of twine he used to normally hold it up frayed and somewhat singed. His upper lip twitched as he recalled his utterly useless attempts at salvaging anything from his burnt living quarters.

Shirou presented Efret once again, paying Sir Anders's internal conflicts no mind.

"Hand me that _bird_ and I _swear_ I'll-"

"Ah," a voice began. An attendant peaked his head around the door. "Sir Ashton, the Lord has been awaiting you." The attendant pushed past a stunned Sir Anders, and pulled Shirou along, not minding the way Sir Anders literally screamed in frustration when Efret landed on his head.

 _"I wait here,"_ Efret said as it made itself comfortable. There was nothing dangerous in the estate so the master should be fine. Besides, Efret had a score to settle.

Shirou nodded to Efret before he and the attendant disappeared around the corner.

The interior decoration was not what he had been expecting of a noble's home. Far from the lavish riches most nobles were eager to decorate their homes in, the inner layout of the hallway Shirou walked in was bare. Strictly speaking however, Shirou couldn't deny the practicality it presented.

The attendant beside Shirou had explained that they were in the hall joining the knight's quarters and the Lord's lodgings. There was no need for luxuries in the hall as it was mainly used by the knights after patrols, or training.

Shirou didn't comment at the heavy double oaken doors the attendant eventually motioned him towards, only steeled himself for what was to come next.

"So this is the _Beast Hunter_?" Was the mirthful voice that greeted him upon his entry. "A pleasure to meet you. I'm James Wolfred, but most call me Lord."

James sat upon the only desk in the room, his hands intersecting as he leaned over his desk.

_"You best not repeat this information to anyone else. Never know who would want to kill you."_

"Shirou Emiya," was Shirou's curt reply as he took Sir Anders words into account, before he looked around the room. It wasn't bad per say, but it took after the sparseness of the previous hall, the large windows being the only difference by adding more light into the square room made of stone. At least there were chairs and enough furniture to appeal to one's sense of home.

James's smile grew. How the child knew politics at such a young age astounded him. Not only did he introduce himself with a name uncommon to Britain, but he intentionally neglected to mention his status as an Ashton. How clever. It was possibly the best political move the child could have done, hiding from his enemies in plain sight. All everyone had to go on at this point was that a child of the Ashton's lived. Only he and his personal knights knew of the boy's true origin, courtesy of Sir Anders.

"Like the room?" James asked as he noticed Shirou's eyes wander.

"...It wasn't what I was expecting," Shirou conceded.

"Exactly." James leaned back in his chair. "To show luxury is to show difference. It is easier to relate to others, to command their respect, under similar circumstance."

Shirou nodded. It was easier to work with someone who could relate to similar issues and responsibilities. Be that as it may, he would rather get to the point of the issue. It was his favour to Sir Anders after all. "Why am I here?" He asked.

"Rather blunt aren't you." James sighed before laughing. "Finally, I hate talking like an ass. Doesn't feel very natural." James got up from his chair, and stretched to relieve the soreness of his muscles. It was time to get to the matter of the topic. Why did he want to meet the boy? Not only was the meeting meant to gleam insight on the boy's capabilities, he was intrigued about certain rumours. "I trust your bird was returned to you safely."

"At Sir Anders's expense, yes."

James cracked a smile. He could remember the sheer devastation on Sir Anders's face earlier in the day. Luckily, he had plenty of other rooms."Then I believe your problems are settled. Your friend is safe." _Thanks to me._

Was left unsaid.

Shirou could read in-between the lines of the conversation. _You owe me_ , was evident in the eyes of Barron Wolfred. Efret was saved by the hands of Sir Anders, and therefore by extension, Lord Wolfred himself. "What do you want?" He asked.

Lord Wolfred smiled. _Educated child_. "Since you're asking, I want to learn magic," Lord Wolfred replied testing the waters of a certain rumour.

In the short silence that ensued, Lord Wolfred watched Shirou's facial features carefully. He had learned early on in his life as a Lord about the importance of reading another's intentions. It was a key factor to gleaming insight about an individual.

Which was why he noticed the subtle creasing of Shirou's brow, and the way his mouth stretched into a thin line to obscure the way he seemed to bite back an immediate response. _Interesting, the boy really did know magic_. He supposed he could play along and let it go.

"It can't be done? Well then I'll change my last answer to a question." Lord Wolfred sat back down on his chair, and leaned forward onto his desk, hands cupped beneath his chin. "What services can you offer this domain?"

There was no hesitation in the child's eyes this time, Lord Wolfred observed. _His lips are sealed in matters regarding magic, but I suppose it was the most likely outcome after the Ashton assassination._

_It's earlier than expected, but..._

"I can offer technology, education, and an agreement to protect the village." Shirou stood with his back straight, his gaze kept firm on Lord Wolfred's.

"Technology?" Lord Wolfred asked. He could understand education and a protection agreement - most nobles were educated young and the boy was an Ashton - but what could a child offer in terms of technology?

Lord Wolfred didn't have to wait long as Shirou lifted his hand and a bow double his size appeared in his outstretched palm.

"This is a long bow," Shirou spoke slowly. "Different from regular bows, this has longer reach, shoots quieter, and is lighter."

Shirou waved his hand, and the long bow disappeared before Lord Wolfred could get a good look at it. What replaced the long bow, was a long sword that flickered a dull blue before returning to its original steel.

"A Longsword?" Lord Wolfred asked puzzled.

"A reinforced one," Shirou replied as he stabbed it hilt deep into the stone floor. "On top of swords like this, I'm confident in my smithing skills. Perhaps you'll see a weapon never before seen."

Lord Wolfred's eyes widened.

"Have we come to a conclusion Lord Wolfred?"


	8. Chapter 8

He was doing the boy a favour. James Wolfred was mulling over the bargain he had settled days earlier once again. Not only was he choosing to keep the boy's identity secret, he had decided to watch out for the boy in case of unnecessary aggression from the Ashton's enemies. Then again, he would have done so anyway without the boy having offered his skills as a favour to the late Ashtons. Be that as it may, he wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. All for the betterment of Bristol.

James stood up from his desk and walked over to the lone window of the room. Small rays of sun filtered through the glass panel, signaling the start of the day, or was it mid-morning? It was always hard to tell with the amount of light that the window had to offer, but then again, he had wax candles along his walls.

He closed his eyes, and sighed before beginning to ponder once more, thankful for the small breeze he could feel from the window. It calmed him in a way that the glowing vermilion jewel fastened onto the head of a wolf plack, certainly did not.

_Be wary James, the jewel- it knows._

_That I know father._ James quelled the sudden terror that paralyzed his body. _That I know._

For as long as James had lived, he had always looked up to his father for guidance. For education, morals, decisions, and politics, his father played a heavy influence for him. Likewise, his father had learned from his grandfather who received many gifts from his friendship with Sir Ashton the Third. And one of those things was the gem his grand father had received.

_It is a symbol of The Old Pact._

He had taken the words to heart as it came from Sir Ashton, but only on his father's death bed did he truly understand. _The Old Pact of Ashton blood_. The fabled blood of beasts and beast slayers.

_The gem of the **Hunt**._

It glew a dull amber before fading out completely.

The _Beasts_ were once again on the move.

It would only be a matter of time, but for now-

He turned his gaze on the map before him, the barbarians were growing in numbers, fortifying and moving enmass. Trouble would be brewing in the coming years. His eyes drifted to the long sword stabbed hilt deep in his study.

 _Sorry dear friend_ , James' eyes hardened. _I won't be able to keep your blood away from this war_.

After all, he would protect Bristol no matter the cost.

* * *

Shirou waited patiently outside on the porch as Arturia got ready to leave her home and go training, sharing a nod with Kay to take care of her. It had been almost a week since the encounter with the beast, and Shirou was thankful that Sir Ector did not pry too deeply into the issue of his magic. Although admittedly, even he truly didn't know. The effects of his reinforcement should not have been able to transfer to a wielder, let alone linger in the weapon for so long. Could his magic have gotten so potent as to bleed into individuals? Unlikely, but not improbable based on the current age where technology had yet to replicate the mysteries of flight and advanced weaponry. Which brought him back to another issue, namely the deal with James Wolfred.

What was there to gain by offering technology and education? The answer was obvious, _recognition_.

He had seen firsthand in his shared memories with Saber about what had happened in the battle of Camelot. About how many once loyal Knights revolted in favour of Mordred.

_The King with no emotion, and his rightful heir._

He could feel the way it had crushed her inside, striking those she had once called friend. It wouldn't happen this time, that Shirou swore. After all, who would wish to draw the ire of the ' _Beast Hunter?_ ' He shook his head in mortification, definitely _not_ happening. He needed a better moniker.

Still though, although the plan sounded simple, simple was best in these times where titles carried weight. A _King_ to rule a country. A _father_ to teach his kids. It was the way the world worked, and he'd have to find a way into the mix. The town of Bristol was simply his first step.

"Thinking deeply I see," Kay mused as he sat down next to Shirou, armour discarded in favour of light leathers. "Well after that night, I can't fault you."

Shirou kept silent as Kay pulled back an arm and pulled out Arturia's wooden sword. "This is amazing," he replied curtly, silently relishing in the feel of his heightened senses. More importantly, he knew this sword would help keep the little blond safe. "I thank you, if it weren't for this..." Kay closed his eyes, picturing what would have happened to Arturia when she snuck up on the beast. He grimaced.

Shirou understood the message.

"Thank you," Kay repeated with a firm nod.

Shirou shook his head. "There's no need for thanks." _Wouldn't you have done the same?_

Kay smiled wryly before placing Arturia's sword in Shirou's lap. "You take care of her, you hear me," he spoke mirthfully. "She's a reckless one, and gullible at that- too trusting in the words of others." _What child would believe in fairies and goblins?_

"Of course," Shirou said evenly as he noticed the approaching ahoge seen through the mirror of the house.

Kay whistled, good friends were hard to come by, and Arturia had struck gold. "Still though, I'll have you know that she's a lot of work. Fighting pigs? Tasting anything that resembles food? Her curiosity? Pretty dangerous habits if you ask me. She nearly gave the old man a heart attack one time when she came back dangling a snake from its tail." _God knows her blood of dragon's probably saved her from the snake's aggression._ "There was also-"

" _KAY,_ " Arturia spoke in warning, her brow twitching as she stepped past the door of her house. She noticed her sword in Shirou's lap, and the request went unasked as Shirou handed it over. _Kay always embarrassing her. Always tarnishing her honour in front of Shirou..._ Her gaze hardened.

"Alright alright," Kay said as he raised his hands up in surrender. "No more of the little lady's secrets."

"Squire," Arturia corrected, but went unheard. She wasn't a lady like some noble, she was an aspiring Knight.

"Uhm hmm," Kay hummed thoughtfully as he stood up and ruffled Arturia's hair. He turned to Shirou and shared a quiet nod before departing, leaving Arturia scrambling to fix her hair.

"Jerk," Arturia muttered before turning to Shirou. "Well, lets go."

Shirou meanwhile sweat dropped as he was staring somewhere else. Namely Kay freezing upon meeting mortal enemy. He shook his head before turning away.

_"You god damned horse!"_

"Let's go," Shirou repeated as he turned around, ignoring whatever was happening behind him.

They walked slowly, enjoying the feel of the sun on their skin. It was something that was quite rare in the last week, too many questions and rumours to really get a break. Well, at least for Shirou, Arturia was relatively uneffected as Sir Ector advised her to stay by the house, or the woods. She was away from all the questioning of the populace, if just a bit miffed by the temporary confiscation of her sword.

"How's Efret?" Arturia asked.

"Spending a lot of its time in the manor, healing its wounds." Not only that though, but Shirou knew that Efret seemed to be thinking deeply about something.

"He hasn't healed yet?" Granted it had only been roughly a week, but she noticed how fast Efret was healing. "I still have to thank him." If it wasn't for Efret distracting the beast, it might have come back to attack sooner while she was carrying Shirou back to her home.

"He's almost done, just a few more cuts to heal." Shirou supplied.

Arturia smiled, glad to hear the news. Still though, her mind wandered to the day's events. "I say we work on our sword forms in the afternoon," she spoke eagerly.

Shirou scratched at the back of his head and smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, about that." Arturia turned to face him as she walked, confusion evident on her face. "I'm going to be working at the forge."

Arturia faltered in her steps.

* * *

Shirou stared carefully at Arturia as he prepared the day's meal. She had been quiet ever since his announcement to spend his time at the forge. It didn't sit right with him.

He turned his attention back on the eggs he was whisking in a bowl before adding oil he extracted from seeds and vinegar into the mix, turning it a creamy white. Satisfied, he stood up with the bowl, and sat next to Arturia. She turned his way and opened her mouth to speak just before he shoved a dab of the mix into her mouth. Her eyes widened, but that didn't stop her from tasting the odd mix as Shirou pulled his hand away. "It's called mayonnaise," he said as she continued tasting the odd tangy and sour mix.

"Here," Shirou said as Arturia swallowed. "Try it with bread and meat."

Arturia raised a hand, she wasn't feeling hungry. She turned her gaze on Shirou. "Have you thought about what you're doing?" Did he not take his training as a knight seriously? By spending his time at the smithy's wouldn't he be neglecting his training? _Wouldn't he be neglecting her-_

She shook her head. That wasn't a reason. Not at all.

Shirou blinked before he gently grasped Arturia's hand. "What do you mean?" He asked confused. He didn't plan to change anything in his life style, opting to use some of his free time to offer advice at the forge. It wasn't like he was going to be there everyday to explain how to build things like kitchen ware, and to better purify ore. No, the deal he had with James Wolfred was to give out technology, but not the instructions to _build_ them. This would make his brand of weapons all the more rare, and likely result in an increased reputation.

"I mean spending your time at the smithy's? Surely there are better things you can do like training." _With me_. She emphasized her point by holding out her wooden sword.

Shirou scratched at the bacck of his head. "I know, but this is something I've decided to do," he said. It may not seem like much to Arturia now, but Shirou was sure she would understand in the future.

Arturia frowned, lips thinning. "But what about becoming a Knight?!" The words burst out from her mouth with all the force of her pent up frustration before she could stop herself. Sure he may have lost his Knight mentor, but Sir Ector had mentioned alternatives. He honestly shouldn't be _wasting_ his time at the smithy's. Still though, she berated herself for acting out of hand, but outworldy, she showed no signs of her inner turmoil.

"A Knight? I see," Shirou said thoughtfully. He didn't know him being a knight meant so much to Arturia. He could tell now, despite her calm demeanor, that the issue really was something she was concerned with. Therefore, it was obvious what he would do next. "Then I'll be your Knight," he said with all seriousness.

Arturia blinked before gaping as Shirou knelt before her. Tentatively, he placed her wooden sword in her right hand before letting it rest on his shoulder. "Well? Will you take this wandering vagrant as your own?"

She turned away bashfully, but still regarded Shirou with one eye. What was he doing? She had never heard of a method quite like this to become a Knight.

_Then I'll be your Knight._

_Her Knight._ Her face became flushed as she understood Shirou's meaning. _'Even if others don't see me as a Knight, I will always be one for you.'_

She coughed into her free hand. She had to stay calm and collected. "O-Of course," she stammered out a response, turning to face him directly, but instantly shying away from his earnest gaze.

"Then by your decree, please Knight this unworthy vagrant."

"T-Then by my graces, I-I Knight you," Arturia stumbled with her words, but still managed to move her sword from shoulder to shoulder.

Shirou smiled. "Then I am yours to have."

Arturia could feel the heat rising from her face, and god she could definitely feel it in her ears. She turned her back to Shirou, lest he see her blush. What kind of game were they playing? Just because one proclaims themselves a Knight doesn't mean they were one. Still though, she smiled awkwardly. Her Knight. It didn't matter if he spent his time at the blacksmith's because no matter what, he was _her Knight_.

However, Shirou took Arturia's action of turning away as a sign that she was still angry. "I won't be at the smithy's any longer than I have to be," he persisted a moment before sighing. "So can you stop being mad and look me in the face?"

"M-Mad?" Arturia sputtered, turning around in her confusion. She noticed the way Shirou's face blanked before he quickly turned away, a red tint to his cheeks.

 _He saw! He saw!_ Oh god she was mortified. She turned around and fiddled with the hem of her shirt. Surely he wouldn't hold anything against her, but surely she had just lowered her standing in his eyes. _Breath, keep calm, fight it down_.

A moment passed, and her ears perked up to the sound of movement behind her. She felt a tap on her shoulder, prompting her to once again turn around.

Shirou waved the freshly made sandwich beneath Arturia's mouth, watching as her eyes tracked the movement. He smiled, somethings just don't change. "Here," he said as he gave it to Arturia, chuckling at the way she fumbled with it in her hands. "Finish up, then we can start training again."

"Y-Yeah," Arturia said after she took a bite and swallowed, grateful that Shirou didn't bring up what happened earlier. Finishing her sandwich, she smiled at him, thankful to have met him all those months ago. Her thoughts were interrupted as she noticed a frown on Shirou's face.

Shirou just shook his head before drawing closer to a flustered Arturia. "You have mayo on your mouth."


	9. Chapter 9

A horse-drawn carriage wheeled across the country side, the exterior decorated with lavish riches and a single coat-of-arms only nobles were known to carry.

The road ahead of the carriage stretched far, but it wouldn't be long before it would reach Bristol along with its delegations: A high Nobleman by the name of Baron Frederick.

"Have you heard, my Lord Baron and Lady? Of the recent young Blacksmith?"

A lone delicate eyebrow rose in curiosity. "The one who made new knives for the cooks?"

"Ugh, I wasn't referring to that, but yes Lady Abigail."

The attendant scratched his head at the silence that followed.

"That's enough beating around the bush, Mr. Conaly," A man said impatiently, using his hands to refasten the cape around his shoulder. "What is it that you had in mind?"

"I understand Baron Frederick," Conaly said, bowing his head. "I was referring to his brand of weaponry, the one's branded with the symbol of the bow."

"The weapons of the Knights of the Peasant's Lord?"

"Aye, M'lord. I've never seen swords able to cut clean through stone before, nor bows as cheap and flexible. They all come from this mysterious _Iron Forge_. Strangely enough, none of the men I sent were able to verify if it were real or not. But if there's one thing I know for a fact _is_ real _,_ it's the weapons." Conaly stopped talking and produced a small dagger from his pocket. "Here, Baron Frederick."

Baron Frederick took the dagger and stared curiously at it. "And what would you have me do with this?" He asked.

"Look at the hilt M'lord. It is branded with the symbol of the bow."

"And?"

"Take a stopping rock for the carriage beneath your seats, and gently press the dagger's blade over it."

Curious, Baron Frederick took one of the stopping rocks used to stop carriages from rolling down hills when stationary, and did as instructed. "Now what?"

"Have you not yet noticed M'lord? Look at the rock and the blade's tip."

Baron Frederick's eyes widened as he noticed the tip had already begun to sink into the rock. How sharp _was_ this dagger?

"Believe it or not M'Lord, I bought that dagger from a shop supplied by the _Iron Forge._ Even less believable, I had bought it for my wife to aid her in her cooking when cutting and peeling vegetables; however, I didn't think it would be so sharp and kept it for myself." Conaly paused and tightened his grip around the reins of the horses to stabilize himself as he turned around to meet the baffled gazes of his Lord and Lady. "If a dagger can so easily cut through stone, imagine a sword that can cut straight through armour and weapons alike." Conaly shuddered and turned his gaze back on the road. "There are other rumours to M'lord, about Bristol. Surely you've heard of them?"

"I've heard of a _Beast Hunter_?" Abigail supplied.

"And I've heard of some magic archer, and enchanted glowing swords?" Baron Frederick replied thoughtfully.

"And I've heard another rumour of a young blond swordsman around your son's age M'lord. A son of Sir Ector, a knight of our late King Uther."

Snap!

The knife cut clean through the stone as Baron Frederick froze in his contemplations, his body tensing. "A _blond swordsman_ you said?"

Conaly stared back at his lord. "Is there something wrong sir?"

Baron Frederick hardened his gaze, ignoring how his wife was trying to calm him down. It clearly didn't work.

"Send a messenger to the peasant Lord, we move to the manor of Wolfred."

* * *

It was spring, nearly five years since Shirou had begun frequenting the local smithy, and Arturia was debating on breaking her greaves again. Sure, Shirou was always with her in the mornings and late afternoons, but most of his time was spent dabbling in his own machinations.

She sighed, berating herself for her selfishness.

She knew all too well of how her friend, her knight, would put aside everything based solely on her whims. Specifically, she would be lying if she said that she never capitalized on such opportunities, help with math, writing, or sword play for example. Not once did he ever refuse, or admonish her for such actions – The cheerful mirth present on his face never ceasing to draw a rise from her heart, or tighten her vocals until she was a gibbering mess. Curses.

She coughed into her hand to relieve herself of such horrid memories before she stood up from the warmth of her bed and stretched. Kay and Sir Ector were probably up already and doing their business in town. Kay, after taking due credit in his part against the Beast, was now working as a town Guard and Knight trainer. Sir Ector on the other hand, still spent the majority of his time dealing with town council events.

She was alone most mornings which was why she found it odd that she could smell cooking meat? She followed her nose, forgetting to make herself presentable as she stepped into the dining area.

Pausing mid-stride, she rubbed her eyes. Why was Shirou here, and what one earth was he cooking over the fire? Thin slices of meat sizzled over an iron frying pan, the aroma making her mouth water.

"You're up early," Shirou noted. "New look?"

 _New look?_ Arturia's thoughts mirrored Shirou's before she froze. Glancing down at her half-dressed body- her sleeping ware in disarray - she stuttered out an excuse and bolted back to her room. What was that idiot doing here so early!

Cheeks flaring in utter humiliation, she ignored the pain, and powered through the mess that was her hair with her comb. It didn't make any sense. Her hair just barely passed her shoulders! She didn't understand how it twisted itself into knots every night. Kay's hair was just the same length as hers, yet _he_ woke up each morning looking like some kind of Divine Goddess instead of a tangled mess.

God just wasn't fair.

Still though, this was all Shirou's fault. _He hasn't come this early in years._ Why now of all days!?

She quietly returned to the dining area, her hair propped up into a neat bun.

"I ugh, I liked the hair?" Shirou said carefully to break the silence.

Arturia didn't flatter him with a response.

Shirou sighed before he nudged a plate in front of Arturia. "I know I'm here a bit early, but the Lord has called me for a summoning later. That's bacon by the way, the floury thing is a pancake."

Arturia stared at the offered meal, and nodded her head. She would accept his offering as an apology for the unexpected morning. Bacon and pancakes, was it? It smelled nice if anything. With measured patience, she extended her hand to pick up a piece-

"Arturia _,_ " Shirou warned.

She froze and glanced up at Shirou's hard gaze. She sighed before reluctantly straightening her back, and shaking her head as Shirou equipped her with what he called utensils: a fork and knife forged by Shirou himself. It was so much easier when they were kids. What good were hands if one didn't use them? She huffed internally. Technically she _was_ using her hands, but she was unused to Shirou's notions of germs- whatever those were. Some kind of invisible beasty? Wouldn't it be better to just kill them? But no, these _germs_ were cowards refusing to show themselves to be slain, lurking in the shadows like assassins. Honourless curs _._

"You won't get better unless you practice," Shirou spoke. "Think of it like a sword."

Arturia glared back. As a sword? What good would that do? Cut it into smaller pieces that she wouldn't be able to pick up with her hands?

Shirou smiled wryly as he watched Arturia fumbling with her cutlery. He sighed. "It's fine. Eat the way you want." Besides, he had Avalon in case she ever got sick. Still though, he would have to stop spoiling her-

Arturia perked up at his answer and smiled thankfully. His heart wavered.

-Eventually.

* * *

"…I'm not surprised anymore," Shirou spoke exasperated. "You ate it all _._ " It had taken him a great deal of time to cut such thin slices for the bacon by hand. Using his magic just wasn't practical when it reduced the meat into grounds. Nonetheless, he had done so anyway, and procured an amount he believed suitable for the family of Knights. He was just woefully unprepared for how well Arturia would take to it. "Kay won't be happy, and don't forget about Sir Ector."

Arturia shrugged. She didn't care. The Bacon was _beyond_ good; she had no regrets. Besides, what could Kay possibly do to her? Sir Ector however…She would cross that bridge eventually.

She swung her sword, and Shirou parried it to the ground where it dug a small crevice. Grunting, Shirou stomped on Arturia's sword and pinned it in place on the ground. Gingerly arcing his sword up, he placed it gently below Arturia's neck. He shook his head.

"You should have abandoned your sword," Shirou spoke.

Arturia stared back calmly. "No Knight I have ever heard, or seen has _ever_ abandoned their sword." Shirou moved his foot, and Arturia took back possession of her sword, now steel in make. "There is no pride, nor honour in such an act."

"I suppose not," _but I don't care._ Shirou said. There was never a need for pride, nor honour in his sword. "Just promise me that if the time ever comes, you will."

Arturia hesitated. She couldn't. She really couldn't. If she was defeated soundly, then by virtue of the duel, her life belonged to the victor to decide. "It won't come to that," she said instead.

Shirou frowned, but relented as they continued to spar until he had to leave for his meeting with Lord Wolfred. He paused before he left, garnering Arturia's attention. "Arturia, I-" he shook his head. "Never mind." He couldn't guilt her into accepting his request. He left, not noticing the subtle shift in Arturia's face, the pursing of her lips.

Shirou walked quietly alone, mulling over his own thoughts. It had been five years since his unexpected arrival, and only now after looking through the Ashton records, did he truly comprehend. Ancestral blood ties. The Ashtons were a family of magus wiped out before his time.

Ashton assassination.

It wasn't that simple.

Regardless of the time period, no mere assassin could slaughter an entire family of magus; bounded fields and magecraft all but cemented the fact, and so too did the magic crest he had found engraved in the Ashton heirloom, an old set of pristine hunting armour. A desperate gambit to preserve the Ashton line of magic perhaps, but it should have been impossible. A crest was passed on over the generations, or so Rin had explained, but he had never seen a case of a crest engraved in an object. Taking into account the sheer complexity of such an act, it surprised him to see the crest still active and responding to his presence.

The fact that the crest was reacting to him was all the proof that he needed of blood ties, but even now he found it hard to believe. The timing, the coincidences, it didn't make any sense. Hell, he could only speculate the kind of magic the Ashton's dealt with, and even then he was reluctant to find out. What kind of magic would require the family to be wiped out? A possible _sealing designation_.

However, his reluctance didn't stop Efret from insisting he wear the armour.

He pulled on the soft leather of his grieves, smiling wryly as Efret flew by above him in glee. The Ashton hunting set was sturdy, and practical, allowing for optimum movement by using padded loose fabric for the joints of the knees. If anything, it felt just right. The obsidian-sleeveless-chest-plate with white grooves spread out across the abdominals, and its matching pair of dark pants held together by leather straps, it was _perfect_.

_If you can't defeat it, imagine something that can._

He laughed mirthfully, he had never believed he would ever look anything like the Archer of the fifth war, but looking at his appearance, the resemblance was uncanny. He rid himself of such thoughts soon enough to get to the matter at hand, namely the magic crest engraved at the back-center of his chest plate.

He could feel it, a steady flow of prana, filtering into his reserves. He could only imagine what magic was stored within the crest if it had enough prana to bleed into him. Eventually he would have to deal with the magic crest, but he could save it for later. After all, he had arrived at his destination.

Pushing the tall iron gates of the Lord's estate, he walked in and towards the entrance of the dwelling.

* * *

"Sir Ector are you not?" The words were spoken offhandedly, as one would talk about the weather. "You are old, unsuited, but you _do_ come from a lineage of Knights."

Sir Ector was beyond frustrated; he was seething inside. This man of the court, this pompous bigot called Baron Frederick was going to _die_ today. He clenched his fists to calm himself. It wasn't working. The man moved and spoke as if everything revolved around him like the damned coloured _frills_ on his coat. Worse was the underlying insinuation in his voice.

 _Don't you dare. Don't you_ _dare._ Sir Ector glared. If this fool so much as even-

"I hear you have two sons-"

"Not one more word," Sir Ector threatened with a growl. Interface patterns spread across his body, flashing a pale blue. Baron Frederick swallowed slowly, Arturia's wooden sword held to his throat. "I may be _old_ , but I'm still a Knight, Baron Frederick." Inwardly, he chuckled to himself at the sheer disbelief on Baron Frederick's face. He still had it in him. He'd consider this another favour to Arturia for letting him have her wooden sword when she had eventually moved onto steel.

Tentatively, Baron Frederick pinched the weapon with his fingers and slowly moved it away from him. "An enchanted sword?" He spoke softly. He had never seen one before. "And where would you have gotten such a sword?"

"From the master of the _Iron Forge,"_ James spoke cryptically.

Baron Frederick raised a brow. "The same forge my attendant was speaking of?"

"That's none of your business." Sir Ector said abruptly. He'd be damned if he dragged the Ashton into his family's troubles. Knowing the boy, he probably would consider it his business, so long as Arturia was involved.

"You would hinder me?!" Baron Frederick demanded, eyes narrowed. The damn impudent low-class; how dare he?! So what if he was proven wrong about the man's capabilities, such blatant disrespect was intolerable.

"You have no authority over me, nor my family." Sir Ector said evenly, sheathing Arturia's wooden sword; content that Baron Frederick now regarded him with an air of caution and open hostility. "I served under King Uther himself. I obey none, but he who is King of the Land."

Baron Frederick smirked. "Then by extension, my son will be the next King after the jousts in a couple years. Therefore, my word is as true as the King's. What say you?"

"That's no more eligible than drying pig's shit on a hot summers day, smelly and unremarkable. My youngest can tell you first hand."

Baron Frederick drew the saber from his waist.

Sir Ector didn't bat an eye. He had made a promise to his King and to Merlin. He would never willingly allow Arturia into danger. His grip tightened around the hilt of Arturia's sword. "Swing that sword. _I dare you,"_ he said.

"Calm yourselves you two." James Wolfred stepped out of his desk, holding a hand to the bridge of his nose. "You're both arguing like children – _Baron Frederick._ "

James leveled a stern gaze on Baron Frederick, prompting the official to reluctantly sheath his saber lest he lose the man in charge of the settlement. Sure Baron Frederick was higher in rank than James Wolfred, but he had no sway with the people James Wolfred governed. The people and the Knights of Wolfred would not readily follow his word, if at all. He could not force James Wolfred to include Sir Ector and his family in the recent levy, but he still had something up his sleeve. He clicked his tongue, this wasn't a good time to use it, but this was for a greater purpose.

As much as Baron Frederick would love to hang the old Knight's head on a noose, he had more important matters to be dealt with. Namely the invasion of the Saxon swine, the _barbarians_. His main task by the local Kings was to ascertain the soldiers each Lord and Duke of the local settlements were given six months to acquire. _That_ was still his priority, but he'd be damned if he couldn't get away with a more pressing matter.

"As part of the coastal defense, Bristol must provide men just as the other towns have."

"And we will," James sighed before staring exasperatedly at Baron Frederick. "Your fixation on Sir Ector's family and the blacksmith of the _Iron Forge_ is the only problem here."

"And I'm right to do so. The blacksmith I'm certain is true; the army most definitely would be in need of such an expert blacksmith to create weapons as cheap and never before seen as Bristol's very own Long Bow, but as for other rumours, I was unsure. Not only have there been rumours of a master swordsman and flaming birds, but a fabled _beast hunter_ as well." Baron Frederick marched up to Sir Ector and poked him in the chest. "That enchanted sword is proof enough. You're hiding them under the 'pretenses' of children."

"And _you're_ about to lose a finger."

"- _Gentlemen_. Either you cease your bickering, or leave my office and find others more qualified to a stand in your stations. Matters of the army are more valuable than selfish reasoning and petty conflict. We are in the middle of an invasion, Saxons, coastal pirates, and unknown vagrants that even now continue to torment our lands." James gave both Sir Ector and Duke Frederick a pointed look. " _Knight, Aristocrat, and the serving body_ it is _we_ who represent the will of the country. It is our _duty_ to save it from barbarian hands. Now get your acts together. We are _men_ not children."

Baron Frederick pulled on his coat and looked away from James Wolfred. Sir Ector was much the same, although more blatant about it as he crossed his arms.

James shook his head; it would seem as if he would actually have to settle the issue. "Baron Frederick, what is the cause of your fixation? We've known each other for years now, and not once have you been this determined on any particular subject aside from your- _O._ "

James Wolfred internally cursed Sir Anders.

"Palamid."

Of course, family was everything to Baron Frederick. If an amount of food would last one day shared between seven people, and three days between Baron Frederick's family, Baron Frederick would call for the execution of those seven. However, the Lord was not behaving properly, his rage evident within his eyes. The cunning Lord he remembered was one of many tricks and underhanded means to achieve his goals. Baron Frederick spoke of authority, but he had no authority over him at all, but rather only the local Kings of the land had that power over him. Levy's were the ways of the nobility, and he could see no way that Baron Frederick could force him to take Sir Ector's family to war. Only levy from the late Ashton's would have made that request possible; therefore, Baron Frederick had to find some other means. Could that be the reason he was here? To force an opinion?

He internally cursed Sir Anders again for the situation. Baron Frederick had only come to Bristol to ascertain that he had delivered his end of the soldiers from the recent levy of six-months prior to give enough time to build up an army. Somehow, the Lord was able to deduce exactly _who_ had defeated his son.

"My son was defeated by this _blond swordsman_ because of some stupid bird that distracted him from delivering the finishing blow. For a week or more, my son was forced into labour as a result; it is a slight against his honour, and I will not stand for it. But alas, the blond swordsman was just a rumour- a rumour tied to your family sir Ector." Baron Frederick pointed.

"And?"

" _And_? Are you joking? My son and your son will battle it out on the battlefield to regain back his honour by slaying more barbarians than your child ever could! Rest assured, Palamid has been training for that day."

"And I see no relevance as to why my youngest has to go to battle to fulfil such a role." Sir Ector spoke casually.

Baron Frederick was seething, but railed himself in after a stern glare from James Wolfred. "Nonetheless, the fact of the matter is that your household must provide for the defense of the country," he spoke, prompting another to speak.

"And so you would force my friend into a world violence and deceit?" _Where her chivalry would mean nothing._ The voice was piercing, the steady sound of footsteps echoing off the walls. "I'm afraid we won't be seeing eye to eye on this matter."

"Shirou?" Sir Ector said with resignation. Just what he didn't need at the moment. Hell, he was trying to keep the child away from trouble.

James stepped forward and motioned for Shirou to take a seat in an empty recliner. "I'm glad that you made it on my call, but circumstances have changed the priorities of this meeting," he said.

"Clearly," Shirou replied.

Baron Frederick raised a brow. James Wolfred would offer some no-name a seat? Preposterous, but he would let it go for now. The meeting was already problematic enough, and he had yet to get his point across. He turned a glare towards Sir Ector.

"It's not happening," Sir Ector spoke flatly.

Baron Frederick smirked before he pulled out a piece of parchment and handed it to Sir Ector.

"T-This?!" _That Bastard!_ Sir Ector crushed the parchment in his hands, face contorting in fury. "Kay and myself. _Us only_ ," he growled out.

"Unfortunately, you're not in a position to bargain. All shall come," Baron Frederick spoke pleasantly.

"And if he refuses?"

Baron Frederick turned to the boy and scoffed. "It is their obligation as a family of Knights to answer the call to arms. Failure to do so- I'd rather you not imagine."

Shirou's eyes narrowed. War was not something he wished Arturia to be involved in. As far as he was concerned, he would do _anything_ to protect her smile. "You leave my friend out of this, and I will aid you in your conflict."

"And what pray tell, can one boy not even a man, _possibly_ do?"

A single breath.

A single sentence spoken with clarity and an air of confidence.

" _Do you know who I am_?"

Baron Frederick swallowed slowly, throat suddenly dry from the sheer tension in the room. "No one of importance," he muttered out. "D-Do you know who _I_ am?!" He countered.

Baron Frederick's response was met with silence.

Shirou let out a breath before making eye contact with James Wolfred. James nodded his head.

"My name is Shirou Emiya of _Ashton_ blood," Baron Frederick's eyes widened. "Teacher of the _Iron Forge_ , student to Sir Ector the _first_ of the Knights of Uther," Shirou took a step forward, and Baron Frederick a step back. "Friend to Gerrard of the _Swift Wind_ , and Kay of the _Foul End_ ," Shirou spoke slowly, his gaze cold.

Massive swords formed, and prevented Baron Frederick's retreat. Baron Frederick's eyes darted back and forth at the steel that surrounded him, his face paling before he stared terrified at the revelation of the _Wizard_ in front of him.

"Enemy of beasts, a _Beast-Hunter._ " _Fuck I hate that name._ "And you would do well to remember it for there are beasts of men and women alike- Beasts who force their will among others."

Baron Frederick nodded his head slowly, a bead of sweat trailing down his brow.

"Now Baron Frederick, are you man, or are you _beast_?"


	10. Chapter 10

Arturia crossed her arms and silently peeked at Sir Ector and Kay from her location pressed up behind a tree. They were avoiding her; she was sure of it. How else could she explain why they refused to linger around her?

It was too suspicious, and the growing secrecy between them was only further drawing out her curiousity. They made trips back and forth from Bristol, stocking up on food and encampment supplies which she knew they didn't need, but perhaps Kay required it for the town guard?

Kay and Sir Ector soon moved towards the horse stalls after gathering a few pots and pans from the house, and placing them inside a thread-sealed sac. Why bring pots and pans?

She raised a brow from their actions, but quickly followed behind them, choosing to hide behind several bushels of harvested wheat to continue her investigation. The more she observed however, the more confused she became. Food, weapons, blankets, Shirou? She blinked before she rubbed her eyes. Hadn't he gone to a meeting with the Barron?

From her distance, she could see the frown on Sir Ector's face, and the tension in Kay's. What was going on? Better yet, why wasn't anyone telling her? Anger replaced curiousity and she slowly but surely entertained the idea of making herself known; show them not to keep secrets from her. How dare they!

"You shouldn't have done that lad." Sir Ector's voice halted her approach. "What you did may very well spawn a grudge against your family, Ashton or not." _What?_ What were they talking about? She retreated back behind the cover of the bushels and cupped a hand over her ear to hear better. A simple trick she learned from a passing merchant.

"And you think Baron Frederick would have listened any other way?" Kay's voice, she noted absently. "The man's family has just as many connections to the other nobles of the land. Even with Shirou's reputation, the man would hardly be fazed without a show of force. Evidently, something you yourself have experienced, _First Knight of Uther_."

Sir Ector fell silent, long enough for Arturia to begin mulling the information in her head. She didn't like the conclusions she was running into and only pitied the one that had wronged her guardian.

"I'm sorry lad, for dragging you into this mess." Sir Ector spoke. "I had a gut feeling about today, and damn it if it wasn't right."

"You have nothing to apologize for." Arturia peered over the bushels and watched as Shirou spoke while he worked to secure the reins on a horse. "I would have done it anyway."

Kay knocked Shirou over the head. "And that's exactly _why_ he's apologizing. First the beast, and now this, you've had enough on your plate."

Shirou frowned at Kay, unsure of what he was getting at. Every situation he had involved himself in was of his own volition. Kay and Sir Ector shouldn't have to apologize for something he chose to do himself.

"Good god, you really don't understand?"

Shirou raised a brow as he saddled the remaining horses.

"What you've done for us and for everyone in Bristol is something no one else could have done," Kay spoke as Arturia nodded from behind the bushels.

Shirou had turned Bristol from some no-name town into a center of trade with strategic value. Even as secluded from the world as Arturia was, even she was able to understand Shirou's value to Bristol. Tales of the weapons of the Iron Forge were wide spread in the neighboring towns and were quickly making their way to local kings alike. Even then, word of Shirou's exploits against the beast only further fueled the flame of the famed Beast Hunter.

"Can't you understand why we don't wish to add on to your load?" Kay continued.

"I don't. You and Sir Ector aren't forcing me to take action so what's there to apologize for?"

Kay scratched at his head in frustration. It wasn't fair to continue to add more and more responsibility onto a person so _willing_ to take them all, but that was the point. Shirou may not understand a reason why others would feel sorry for him because he takes what others may consider to be a huge favour as no more than an errand from a friend. Yet this? This was no mere favour, or errand.

"This is _completely_ different," Kay argued. "You've gotten yourself mixed up in a w-"

"Arturia." Sir Ector's voice resounded.

Arturia stiffened as silence dominated the stalls.

Sir Ector sighed as he glared sternly at the blond aghoge peeking up from the bushels of wheat. _She would never be suited to be an assassin or thief_ , he thought before opening his mouth and speaking. "Care to explain yourself?"

Awkwardly, Arturia stepped into view before cooling her expression as if she had done nothing wrong. Arturia's eyes veered off to the stalls before inspiration took place. "I was only doing what you asked of me," she spoke as she strode confidently towards Llamrei's repaired stall. "You told me to feed the livestock."

"Then why the need to hide?"

Arturia stood straight and spoke coolly. "I saw a fray in the wrapping of the bushels-

"Hogwash."

Arturia sent a Kay a scathing glare. "- and decided to see if there were others that needed to be brought to attention."

"There's not a single fray," Shirou spoke out, kneeling from beside the bushels, face set in honest confusion.

 _Damn it Shirou!_ Arturia turned to Sir Ector's searching gaze and met it with her own. She wouldn't back down, she was older now, no longer some simple child scornful of pigs. Evidently, Sir Ector knew it as well as he turned to Shirou with cold eyes.

Arturia's breath hitched. He was a tyrant… _HE wouldn't dare_.

"You will make no more foo-"

"I-got-to-go-bye!" Arturia quickly stammered out before she left in a sprint. What she didn't _hear_ , she couldn't be punished for!

Kay whistled as he watched Arturia run; he had never seen her sprint so fast. Still though, he turned to Sir Ector and Shirou. "That was quite clever, scaring her away like that."

Sir Ector let out his breath and eased the tension in his shoulders. "It's for the best this way. I've already called a favour in with David to take care of her while we're gone."

* * *

"Is something wrong dear?" Lady Abigail asked.

Baron Frederick didn't stir from where he lay staring out the window of the town center, his accommodation for the duration of his stay.

"Dear?"

Baron Frederick turned to his wife and bowed his head low. "Abigail my love, I have made a grievous error."

Abigail furrowed her brows and took a seat beside her husband. She never knew him to be a man to back down from anything, nor did she ever hear him complain. Brushing back her hair behind her ear, she pushed her husband's face back up. He pressed his face into her hand and stared back calmly. "That's more like the man I remember marrying," she spoke. "Handsome, confident," her eyes strayed to the frills Baron Frederick often wore, and narrowed. "…And without frills."

Baron Frederick didn't rise up to the barb.

Now Abigail was worried. He _always_ had something to say about the frills he now wears. "What happened, dear?"

And so, Baron Fredrick spoke about how he'd spoke to the Barron and the Old Knight of Uther, Sir Ector. How he had _everything_ under control, all the pieces in his hands: A means found in a letter to force Sir Ector to comply, and the backing to suppress anyone who would oppose him. That all changed when the _Ashton_ walked into the room.

A dead line of nobility suddenly re-emerging from out of nowhere. It was the stuff of stories, not reality. The Ashton was a wild card, but Baron Frederick was too confident in himself and his own backing that he failed to realize the _Beast_ in the room. Not only a wild card, but a military game changer. A Wizard! He had offended a Wizard! Fire, water, earth, wind, they had control of the very elements. What was an army of a thousand to magic? Absolutely nothing, Merlin and the Witch Morgan was proof of that.

Abigail rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Isn't this the fault of your temper. I always warned you about it, but much good that did." She perked up from a sudden realization. "Dear, don't you understand what you have just done?"

"Doomed our family." Baron Frederick dropped his face into his hands.

"No, you have secured _victory_ for the country." Abigail's eyes flashed in wonder. "A Wizard dear! You've recruited a Wizard! No matter how young he may be, he can use magic like the heroes of children's stories."

Baron Frederick looked up from his hands and sighed. "At the cost of a grudge against my family? There's no way we can stand up to a Wizard, much less rely on the influence of the local kings."

Abigail pursed her lips, her husband was right. But… "You didn't describe him as someone quick to anger? It was only after you insisted on bringing Sir Ector's youngest, wasn't it?"

"What does it matter? I've already offended him, the last of the Ashton line."

Abigail lifted a brow. "Therefore, we make it up to him. That simple."

Baron Frederick simply nodded and turned back to staring out the window of the town center. They would travel at dawn.

* * *

At the dawn of the following morning, Arturia rubbed tiredly at her eyes as she lay awake in bed. She stretched, enjoying the onset of heavenly satisfaction it brought to her joints. Closing her eyes, she lazily pulled the covers back over her shoulders and nuzzled into her feather pillow in an attempt to fall back asleep, the morning still too early. The silence in the house however, kept her awake.

Where was the sound of Kay grumbling after Sir Ector forced him out of bed and into early morning guard duty? Where was the sound of Sir Ector getting ready to visit the town center?

Grudgingly, she forced herself up onto her hands, and promptly swung her feet out of bed, lest she lose her motivation and lull herself back to sleep. The sudden cold of the wooden floor beneath her feet forced her to her senses and woke her completely.

She yawned, a hand over her mouth as she began the process of brushing back her tangled hair. Again, she grew jealous of Kay. He was a natural with a sword, a Knight instructor, _and_ had straight glossy hair, where as she was the exact opposite. Glossy hair aside, she had never been too talented with a sword. All her skill was earned through hard work and dedication while Kay hardly ever trained.

 _Enough mopping!_ She shook her head and gathered her clothing, pausing as she glanced at the necklace hidden beneath her pillow that Shirou had gifted for her 'birthday' he called it? She hesitated, but eventually walked over and picked up the necklace. An ivory jewel was embedded at the center which was held together by light interlocking marigold-coloured chains. Where Shirou had attained it from, she didn't know, but it was _beautiful._

Her heart beat began to quicken. _A Knight has no need of such things,_ she remembered herself saying.

Pursing her lips, she glanced silently around her before slipping on the necklace and letting down her hair. What did she look like? Was she pretty, or was she ugly? She didn't know as she never partook in the gatherings of the younger women in the town. Her curiousity only continued to grow as she debated against herself. Inadvertently, she made for the mirror, but stopped herself as she realized what she was doing.

 _A Knight has no need of such things_.

She grimaced before she tied up her hair and took off the necklace, letting it sit in her palm as she struggled with what to do. After much debate, she walked back to her bed and once again hid it beneath her pillow. She had gotten up for a reason, and that reason wasn't to look at herself in a mirror.

Why was it so quiet at the time Kay and Sir Ector normally woke up? Her question wouldn't be answered by just staying in her room. Mind made up, she left for the dining area, as breakfast was number one in her family. Hunger was the enemy and she would not allow herself to be defeated because of an empty stomach.

Walking bare foot down the hall to the kitchen, she wondered if she would find out what Sir Ector and Kay were hiding from her. She wouldn't question Shirou as he was always around to help, and she couldn't imagine him hiding anything important from her.

As she entered the kitchen, there was only one thing that she noticed.

Nothing in the kitchen had been used.

Kay and Sir Ector had not been here, and that in itself was suspicious. They _always_ had breakfast in the morning. To not have used the kitchen was impossible. Tentatively, she turned her back on the kitchen and went into the dining room, and there she found her answer.

There on the table, illuminated by the rising sun's golden rays, was a single sealed parchment.


	11. Chapter 11

They were traveling west to meet up with the main garrison stationed a distance away from the town of Wales.

Shirou sat idly on a wagon as the others set up camp, passing the time by inspecting a worn diary he had taken from Ashton manor.

_"_ _I always hated how every winter took away my husband from me, but I was happy this winter. With a warm blanket over my shoulders and a bowl of mashed potatoes to feed my bundle of pride and joy. My little boy."_

Shirou raised a brow as he looked up and noticed the increasing number of stares. At first, he was used to the few who had initially stopped to stare at him; those who had volunteered to fight the beast with Kay and Sir Ector several years ago, but now a crowd of strangers had gathered whispering amongst themselves. They weren't even all Knights, or warriors, some just merchants who had allowed their wagons to be used as transport for the food supplies. Others, were nobles traveling with Baron Frederick to secure protection against any bandits. But what made him so interesting?

"T-This?" A man broke off from the crowd holding a small paring knife. "You made this?"

Shirou nodded, the symbol of the bow on his work unmistakable. But what was the big deal? He made plenty of knives and weapons, so what did it mean to be questioned about one?

"Y-You're the blacksmith of the Iron Forge!" One of the merchants spoke, pushing back the man with the paring knife.

Yes, yes he was. He had thought that would have been common knowledge by now, but it seems it wasn't. It probably had something to do with the way information got around in the medieval era. Letters were expensive, and not everyone knew how to read and write, which left only word of mouth to spread information. He frowned, as he heard someone in the back describe him to be some exaggerated hulk of a blacksmith. Obviously proven false now.

The merchant pressed forward and lowered his head. This was his chance. The value of any weapon made from the Iron Forge _always_ traded for a high price, be it for military purposes or otherwise. "I-If you would take an order from me to ma-"

"Well if it isn't little Red."

Shirou smiled. There was only one person who called him that.

The merchant backpedaled as a man strode forward.

"Well, not so little anymore I see." Gerrard spoke offhandedly, bow hanging of from his belt.

"I-It's the swift wind!" The crowd parted as Gerrard made his way through.

Gerrard didn't acknowledge the title and acted as if nothing had happened. "Still though Red," he spoke. "I didn't think you'd be one to serve the army. Last I heard you became a smithy. Sad really, you'd have made a _damn_ good archer."

"Put a cork in it Gerrard. He's not taking your job." Charles spoke.

"Why don't _you_ put a cork in it, Lord Deadsacs." Gerrard rebutted.

Charles sputtered.

"Now where was I." Gerrard turned back to Shirou. "These people bothering you?" He asked, staring at the gathered crowd.

"Not anymore they won-"

"It's the _Foul End!_ Cover your eyes and run away or he'll kill you with his brown caked unholy sword!"

The crowd parted along with a pale faced Charles, leaving a fuming Kay behind. Kay would gut that damn horse, he swore on it with the very blade in his sheath. The past few years had not been kind to Kay's reputation. Ever since his first day training the town's guards, everything had went spiraling out of control. At first everyone had known him as the Knight who took on a beast, but that all changed after the sixth time his sword launched fecal matter at his opponents.

From then on, everyone began to fear Kay's power. A man capable of standing up to a beast, and coupled with his poisoned blade that even a cut could lead to a _foul end_ was frightening to most. Shirou said it had something to do with infections, but that was besides the point when no one knew what an infection was.

Kay muttered profanities quietly to himself as he approached Shirou and Gerrard.

"And so, the feared Knight arrives," Gerrard joked. Kay was not amused.

"Says the bowman who can kill a man without getting seen." Kay crossed his arms. "Either way, it's been a long time."

"Same to you, friend." Gerrard held out his hand. Kay shook it. "Say, what's that smell coming from Sir Ector over there?"

Kay shrugged nonchalantly. "Just some food Shirou made a while back."

"Well, it smells divine…" Gerrard walked towards Sir Ector who sat near a couple skewers over a fire. "Don't mind if I do." He plucked up a skewer and sunk his teeth into the meat. He froze, mind blanching as his eating pace increased. He finished the skewer and immediately picked up another.

Sir Ector raised a brow as he turned towards Kay's direction. "He's eating from your share." Sir Ector informed calmly even as he allocated his amount away from Gerrard's reaching hands.

"S-Stop you bastard! That's mine!" Kay ran, a panicked expression over his face as Gerrard refused to listen to him.

Shirou sighed, and pulled out a bag of dried meat he stored for long journeys. Looking down back at the diary, he flipped open to a page, and continued reading.

_"_ _My husband was my support, my pillar of strength through all the hardships of mothering. He would come home every day, tired from dealing with all the crap being a Duke entailed, but he did it for us. More than ever, we needed to stay hidden, and who would search the residence of a Duke? Nonetheless, the beasts were our partners, the Pact of Blood keeping us strong."_

_"_ _It was spring now, and my little boy had just started to learn how to crawl, something that greatly amused his father. His curiosity getting the better of him, he decided to go bother his father's bird, Efret. Efret was much larger than my little boy, but he made certain to quell the heat of his feathers whenever they played. O Efret, what would I ever do without you?"_

"Shirou, by any chance," Kay spoke suddenly and apologetically. "Did you happen to pack any cooking meat?"

Shirou stared at Kay, before looking passed him at Gerrard rubbing his stomach in content. So that was what was going on. Gerrard had managed to finish Kay's share, leaving Kay with the less than savory rations the others were eating around him.

He closed the diary, and propped it up inside the wagon.

"I'll cook some over there." Shirou moved to Sir Ector's fire, Kay following behind.

The wagon was left alone and unoccupied.

That was when a small breeze blew across the countryside, flipping the diary open to a single page with a small note that came loose and fell to the ground.

 _"_ _I should have listened. S-Should have realized what they were truly after."_ The note was smudged and worn, small traces of dried blood scattered in the fading print. _"I-I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. My little boy."_

* * *

"Come now, lad," David patted Arturia's shoulder. "I'm sure they just went out for a little hunting trip."

 _Then why did they leave me?_ Arturia held the piece of parchment in her hands, reading it over and over again. The material itself was made from stretched animal skin and was hard to come by. So why would they waste such a precious resource and not just tell her up front?

_"For explicit purposes, I, your brother Kay, and Shirou are required to leave Bristol. I hope you understand that…"_

_She didn't understand._ She nearly crumpled the letter in her hands, until she caught herself about to do it. _Why didn't he tell me?_ She pursed her lips thinking about Shirou. He would never have lied to her; he was her friend and Knight. _But she never really asked him either._ Her shoulders slumped until she made up her mind.

"I know what your thinking lad, and Sir Ector knew it as well." David held Arturia's sword in his hands, safely away from Arturia's reach. She wouldn't be going anywhere without it. "Now come rest inside, leave the farm work for me today. The Mrs.'s has prepared a small feast upon learning we were going to have another mouth to feed."

Arturia stared uselessly at her sword, before walking dejectedly into David's home. It was smaller than her home, but it was nice and cozy with the smell of morning grass. She frowned, frustrated at her own inability to immediately chase after those idiots. More over, which direction did they even go?

There was no way she would ever be able to find them without at least knowing a general direction, and even then, there were no guarantees. She slumped further into her dejection as she quickly realized she wouldn't be able to train without her sword.

"Oh, It's you!" A voice spoke excitedly.

Arturia stared up at the girl in front of her wearing a plain white dress that flowed past her knees.

Long locks of light blond hair now grown to barely reach her waist, Emily smiled at Arturia. "You were the one with Sir Shirou from, before, right?"

Arturia's mood soured further, although she didn't know what was causing her frustration.

"Shirou talks a lot about you." Emily twirled her hair with a finger. "You guys are surely the best of friends."

 _He does?_ She felt a smile about to tug at her lips, but she held her composure. It wouldn't do to alter Shirou's friend's image of her…wait. "S-Since when do you talk with Shirou?" She stuttered, confusing herself as she was unused to fumbling with her own words.

"I visit him at the smithy's as often as I can, offering him some of the fresh berries papa and I had gathered," Emily spoke fondly. "So, uhm-" She fiddled with the hem of her dress, taking her time to formulate the right question.

Arturia was frozen in place, her eyes glancing down at herself, then back at Emily's dress and long cascading hair. She didn't like the feeling rising within her chest, couldn't even name what it was. Yet it caused a twitch to form over her upper lip.

Heedless of any of Arturia's troubles, Emily continued on.

"-What does Shirou do in his spare time? You know, when he's not at the smithy's," Emily asked, eyes shying downward. "D-Does he talk about me?"

Arturia felt a sudden overwhelming burst of undirected animosity. Why did she have to tell her _anything_? She caught herself beginning to glare, and quickly smoothed over her facial features. She was staying at Emily's house, it would only be polite to not offend her. She justified.

"He talks about you sometimes," _not that I've ever heard him speak of you._ Her inner thoughts gave her pause. Sir Ector did not raise her to be this kind of Knight, yet why was she beginning to feel better?

" _R-Really_?" The amount of joy in Emily's voice forced a strained smile on Arturia's face, and that was all Emily needed as confirmation. She blushed as she realized that she hadn't even invited her family's guest, Sir Shirou's friend, Arthur, to the dinner table.

Apologizing, she quickly dragged the blond boy to where her mother had prepared a feast with the largest pig in the barn.

"Glad to see you both here," Linda, Emily's mother said.

"Just in time too," David added as he sat himself down. "It's been much faster to work the field with this system, and better equipment. That's just another thing we have to be thankful to Sir Shirou for."

Arturia nodded her head, unaware of her budding admiration for her friend. He was strong, smart, and wise enough that the town's people had begun to ask him for guidance. For example, what to do and eat in the case of the devil's presence, a state that reduced a man to constant coughing and head pain. Shirou called it a cold before promptly providing a concoction of herbs he had foraged in the forest, and advising bed rest. Other things he had advised to ward off the devil's sickness and bad spirits from causing undo harm to the body, was to stop throwing their shit onto the ground and bury it into a hole.

The town's people were astonished at the results; the dramatic reduction of what Shirou called the _cold_. A truly devious sounding name.

Nowadays, he was beginning to be referred to as the town's healer. Other less educated people, began to whisper the words of a Saint. For who could banish the devil's sickness, but a vessel and messenger of God?

"Well, let's say our prayers and eat," David said.

Taking a seat after a prayer, Arturia watched as Lynda moved and placed a couple slices of pork on her plate. Just looking at it made her realize just how much Shirou had spoiled her by cooking for her all the time. It didn't look very appetizing compared to the assortment of food Shirou always made. She had learned early on that he always cooked with variety: A side of meat, vegetables, and during spring, fruit. Still though, Sir Ector had taught her not to be rude, therefore she would eat the food prepared for her. She stared at her plate, and paused in thought.

_Hadn't Shirou visited the Barron?_

The thought struck her as her gaze fell over the pork on her plate. It wasn't bacon, but it was pig, and it was enough to remind her of what had occurred that morning. He went to the Barron's, she was sure of it.

She swallowed the entire thing in two bites before she pushed herself away from the table and out of her chair, drawing David, Emily, and Linda's attention. "I've got to go," she excused herself before promptly leaving through the door.

The wind whipped across her face as she ran, but she didn't mind the cold of the late afternoon. Rather, it served to increase her pace as she neared the Lord's manor. It was a tantamount to the amount of training that she had done that she wasn't winded in the slightest after running full sprint across Bristol, apologizing to every person she bumped. She may not have her sword, but if the Lord knew where her idiots had gone to, it would be a start.

Her pace slowed as she approached the tall iron gate of the manor and squeezed through a narrow gap. Unlike Shirou, she wasn't being expected by the Lord, therefore, she was trespassing. However, she needed to talk to him.

Sneaking had never been her specialty, but she had to try nonetheless. Her eyes darted back and forth, looking if anyone was around before she moved through the manor. Shirou had once told her in passing that the Lord's study was separate from the main manor, the Lord preferring to live a life similar to his Knights. It was something Arturia could respect. Rather than live in the luxuries that a noble's life no doubt entailed, he would choose to pursue a Knight's living conditions.

Perhaps that, was it? Her eyes locked on to the small detached building from the main manor, an open hallway leading to two large oaken doors. She walked silently, breathing slowly as she drew close.

Should she knock, or would it be better to open the doors without notice?

She furrowed her brows, her code of honour waging war within her. A Knight was not a man who would stick to the shadows, yet wasn't she being a hypocrite by sneaking into the manor? She shook her head, hypocrisy or not, she would let it slide this time for the purpose of getting her answers. Therefore, she had to open the door silently. Tentatively, she reached forward with her hand and-

She knocked, her body deflating. She couldn't do it, regardless of the circumstance it wasn't in her to take a man by surprise.

"Come in," A voice prompted her to open the door. "I wasn't expecting you to…?"

A man sat alone on his desk, peering over a map. Arturia swallowed, throat suddenly dry as she met James Wolfred's gaze for the first time. Shirou had never brought her along to meet the Lord, specifically because he said it had to do with his smithing business. However, she needed to talk with the Lord and now here she was. This was what she had wanted wasn't it? So why was it so difficult to voice her thoughts?

James scratched at his beard, watching the blond-haired lad fidget in front of him, trying to formulate his words. He hummed in thought. This was either the youngest assassin he had ever seen, or "You're Sir Ector's child, aren't you?" He gave him a rope to pull on.

"Yes," the child spoke as if he wasn't having trouble formulating his words mere moments ago. "About that, did you happen to know where Sir Ector went?"

_"_ _Me and Kay, us only."_

James leaned over his hand, recalling Sir Ector's words. He would not be happy with him if he told his youngest where they had gone. It was the entire reason Sir Ector put up a fight against Baron Frederick.

"I'm afraid not lad. Perhaps they went hunting? The weather seems about right around now." James hoped this would be enough to dissuade the feminine boy.

The boy bit the inside of his cheeks, eyes downcast before lighting up with vigour. "Shirou, my friend, where did he go?" The boy asked.

James clicked his tongue. This was going to be more difficult than he thought. "I'm afraid I don't know. It has been a long time since I last saw him."

"Hogwash," Arturia said. "We were training together when he had to leave on your call." She was starting to get angry, and she knew it. Everyone was keeping secrets from her as if she wasn't strong enough or old enough to handle them. "Why are you _lying_ to me?" She intoned, hands clenched in frustration.

James did not speak as if the act itself would tear an uncertain balance in the room.

A small respite, that James did not wish to break. What was he to do? Lie? He couldn't not when the lad knew of his association with the last Ashton. Then tell the truth and garner Sir Ector's ire? Either way, his best course of action was to say nothing. Sir Ector, nor Shirou could blame him for putting his youngest in danger.

The stillness in the room was beginning to get under Arturia's skin. Why wasn't he answering? The only other reason would be that-

She grit her teeth, her lips thinning.

H-He _knew_. The outrage of being left behind quickly crept up again to the front of Arturia's mind, and she was going to explode despite what her calm outward demeanor suggested. Luckily, someone else beat her to it.

"Father!" The son of Wolfred, kicked in the oaken doors. "Why did you send Palamid and the Ashton to war but not m-hegh!"

Faster than she had ever thought herself capable of moving, Arturia grabbed the scruff of the son of Wolfred's tunic. "… _What_ did you just say?"

James sighed, there goes his quiet study.


	12. Chapter 12

By the twelfth day of travelling, they had met up with the reinforcements from the other towns, and were slowly making their way to the battleground at one of the many rivers called Glein. Wales had sent a cavalry unit consisting of a couple dozen trained men, others from Breckon and Cardigan, respectively, sent a thousand men with each hundred or so, loyal to a different nobleman.

_A banner of glory, and a symbol of status._

Swaying in the wind, dozens upon dozens of coat-of-arms fluttered like flags upon the pikes they were hoisted on. Knights carried them on shields, nobleman had them embroidered on their expensive silken sheets. It was a tempest of symbols. Lions, bears, dragons, roses, and the symbol of a lone wolf lying in wait atop an old baron's manor.

_The Knight's of Wolfred marched in sync._

Kay, and Sir Ector, with a little hobble in his steps, walked at the front. It was a show of comradery, for even though the other towns sent many men, not all were trained in the same conditions. Some were farmers from the poorer towns, some were trained, and some had come along seeking fame and glory. They did not possess solidarity of any kind. Unlike the Knight's of Wolfred, they didn't live together, eat together, or train together.

Trust only comes from experience. It was a shame really, that not all of the company of Knights were able to come, around fifty or so left behind to serve as fort guards.

They were given a wide berth as they walked, the atmosphere around them, formidable.

Their destination however, was questionable. While others walked in the direction of the coming battle, they were walking in the opposite, towards the back of the marching line. More specifically, towards a certain wagon trailing behind, and the boy it carried.

Shirou stared up from the diary he was reading. "…Is there something you all need?" He asked carefully, unnerved by the intensity of the gazes directed at him. Kay and Sir Ector just sighed as Sir Anders stepped forward with much enthusiasm. Then again, he was always like that.

"We've been assigned our placements, and are simply awaiting orders from our leader," Sir Anders spoke.

Shirou hummed in thought, glancing down at the diary before glancing back up at the Knights. He pinched the bridge of his nose and decided to close the diary. Leaning back, he scratched the back of his head and stated the obvious. "Then why gather here when the military generals are over there?" He pointed to the group of bickering nobleman.

"Well," Sir Anders visibly flinched as his gaze fell upon the bickering lot. He turned his gaze back at Shirou and smiled nonetheless, very much thankful of the current circumstance. "Like I've said. We've been assigned our placements and are awaiting orders from our unit leader." Shirou's brow twitched as Sir Anders placed a hand over both his shoulders. "That would be _you_."

* * *

They were mere moments away from the battle, and had decided to set up camp to rest before moving out at mid-afternoon. However, the main objective in and out of itself wasn't to rest, it was for tactics.

In a tent, a map was laid out across a long table with numerous men seated at each side.

"Your placements are absurd, Baron Frederick." The man speaking rubbed at his temples in irritation. His eyes were pointed and an air of seriousness seemed to surround him at all times. This man was a war general who had been and lived through many battles. For Baron Frederick, a man of little war experience, to have been granted the right to form placements, irritated him. "You can't honestly expect to hold the front line by thinning our numbers. I see that your success in recruitment has dulled your mind, or perhaps it was already _addled_ to begin with?"

"I agree," Another man spoke. He was elderly, white haired and skin full of wrinkles. "My great grandfather was in the Roman army before he retired. His war texts have taught me all that I know. We should stick to Roman tactics, something proven effective through history. Not whatever the hell this is! If we're going to deploy by a river, we should damn well use it. Reinforce the left flank, and leave the right pressed up against the currents. All other men at center march."

There was a short silence that followed, the room filled by the hostile stares of each nobleman. All, had their own opinions, and all wanted to lead the entire army. Fame and recognition were riding in the air.

"Now now, although we do see the point of your arguments, Baron Barwheld and Carnick, we're more interested as to why a line of infantry is missing from the placements." Baron Ferdenand, a nobleman of Breckon spoke as a representative of the other nobles behind him. "The Knights regiment of Lord Wolfred, two-hundred strong, and unassigned."

Frederick scratched at the back his head, a bead of sweat trailing down his brow.

"Well-"

"I stand corrected. They are assigned, but why place command to some runt from a backwater Town? Sure it's a central trading hub, but I mean-"

" _Backwater_ , Ferdenand?" Barwheld spoke as he glared at Ferdenand, a fire burning in his eyes. "You should watch your tongue. We owe a great deal of respect for that town, or have you forgotten _who's_ land that town belonged to,"

Ferdenand clicked his tongue, and reclined back in his chair, arms crossed. "It doesn't matter, they're already dead with no man to lay claim to the name."

Frederick saw his chance, his justification lying flat on his lap. "And if such a thing were false?" He asked tentatively.

The air stilled, the room going silent once again. It was Lord Barwheld who broke it.

" _This is not a joke, Baron Frederick,_ " Barwheld spoke softly, but pointedly, like a knife ready to pierce through flesh. The tension in the air was nerve racking, the matter of war pushed aside as if it were insignificant.

Charles of Deadsacs swallowed the lump forming in his throat. He had only come to the discussion as he was also of noble blood; not that spending another second with that imbecile had anything to do with it. But he wasn't exactly expecting _this._ He pressed into himself and tried to be as inconspicuous as possible.

"I hope you understand how dear they were to me _," Baron_ Barwheld continued. _"_ And to be given even a notion of hope _…_ " he drew his sword, the gleam of candle light reflecting ominously off a polished edge. "I _will_ kill you if you're lying to me _."_

Frederick smirked. This was his field, his level of expertise. What happened in Bristol, was not the type of man he was. Anger had clouded his judgment, and now with the threat of bringing a wizard after his family, Baron Frederick of the Silver Tongue was back. And he had just realized how he could atone for his mistake. A lord, no, even better than that. A _King_. King Ashton, ruler of the land. He would bring about the end of the power of the local Kings, and return it to one worthy of being Uther's successor. As he was an Ashton, even better.

"Settle down, Sir Barwheld. The answers in which you seek are already before your eyes. Think, and think harder of the battle placements I have proposed." Baron Frederick stood up before grabbing a quill and dipping it in a small jar of ink.

With practiced movements, his hands began to move the quill all throughout the map, lines and large arrows meant to symbolize the movement of each garrison appearing in heavy strokes of ink. An air of curiosity, replaced the air of tension. The more Baron Frederick moved his hands, the more speechless the other nobles became. T-This was, this was!?

"A variant of the old Eagles formation, a classic Ashton maneuver." Barwheld hummed. As the main army's numbers are thinned, it presents a tempting opportunity for the enemy to strike. Just as the eagle spreads its wings, the placements are spread thin on either flank to encircle the enemy. But that itself was the rues. Leaving a single opening in the formation for panicked enemies to flee.

_And the Eagle strikes from the north after the prey has been routed._

But that was the job of the leading detached unit, the eagle's talons. Then that would mean-! "The Knights regiment of the old Baron."

Baron Frederick smirked, before nodding cryptically. It wasn't reassuring in the slightest. In fact, it only stemmed more important questions, but what truly mattered at this moment was one simple thing.

"T-Then the leader of the detached regiment is-"

"Exactly," Baron Frederick said as he placed down the quill, the sound reverberating within the stillness of the room.

Baron Barwheld's eyes hardened. The leader of the eagle's talons was the leader of the entire army. And in that position, there was only _one_ who could fulfill it, but that man was dead.

"You may not believe a word I say, but should you not hold your judgment till after the battle?" Baron Frederick said.

Baron Barwheld grunted before sheathing his sword. "A slippery snake you are, but I will concede your point. Should this be a lie…" The message was clear.

"Then you may have my head," Baron Frederick spoke with confidence. "I trust there's no more to discuss here, and if you'll excuse me, I bid you all adieu."

Baron Frederick slipped out of the war tent and disappeared into his carriage. Now, all he had to do was decide how to best go about getting the Ashton to act accordingly. But the Ashton was a wizard, so regardless, he had no worries _._

* * *

"You're asking me to steal your sword away from my papa?" Emily furrowed her brows, the intensity in which Arturia was staring at her was beginning to frighten her. Her parents were out, and she was slightly overwhelmed with what to do.

"Can you do it, or can you not?" Arturia pressed. She needed her sword to fight, and the dull end to knock some sense into her family's heads. It would be little tap over the head, just enough to knock them unconscious until she could decide on a further course of action.

They went to war.

They went to war!

She didn't know what she would do the next time she saw either Kay, or Shirou. Sir Ector was out of the question as he was already growing old, but those two? Oh, she could come up with something. Many things.

Emily backed away, thoroughly floored with the deranged half-smile on Arturia's face. Nonetheless, she pressed on. It would have been rude to run away, and from a Knight's son no less.

"It's not about whether I can or can't, it's about why?" Emily began as she scratched her head. "Would you steal from Sir Ector without a reason?" She argued.

"N-No," Arturia relented.

"Then why?"

"They went to fight a war!" Arturia burst, letting her emotions dictate her choice of words. It was a first for her to express herself so openly, and in front of an acquaintance no less. Still, containing it for small things such as Kay's teasing and sty duty was simple, but _leaving_ to fight a war, and Sir Ector _portioning_ her food was entirely different. "Sir Ector, Kay, and Shirou… _They all left without me_."

Emily stood still, her face blank. _He went to fight a war?_ She frowned, but still had a few more questions to ask before making any judgements. "And did you consider why?" She asked.

"They all must think I'm weak." Arturia reasoned weakly, her shoulders slumped and eyes downcast. In fact, if Emily looked hard enough, she'd have noticed the small quivering of Arturia's lower lip.

_No, not at all._

Emily recalled all the praise Shirou had for Arthur. His quick learning ability, his dedication, and his tenacity. There was no way Shirou considered Arthur weak by any account. Therefore, the same should apply with Arthur's family, which means-!

She looked Arthur in the eyes and decided to convey what must have been the truth. " _Or_ they wished to protect you." Growing up, her papa, after getting lessons from Sir Ector, read to her in her sleep. They were always stories about how the hero rescued everyone, but what she truly understood was the hero's reason for fighting.

To protect those, he left behind.

Arturia fell silent before speaking softly. "I don't need to be protected," she said. She could understand what Emily was speaking of; she had been the same when Kay would constantly bully Liamrei. However, what mattered to her was the most basic of desires. "I just want to fight beside them."

Emily could agree with the sentiment. After all, it was something she herself had envisioned when her father read to her in her sleep. Why should the hero fight alone? She thought of Shirou fighting to protect Bristol, and then to Shirou fighting to protect _only_ her. She paused in her musings, her blood rushing to her face. T-That last thought wasn't so bad, but she clapped her cheeks, drawing a raised brow from Arturia. Now wasn't the time.

"If I help," she started, determination setting into her eyes. "Then I'm coming with you." Even if she couldn't fight, she could be there to sew his broken clothing, or cook him a feast, or something useful. The hero shouldn't fight alone. That was the job of the hero's friends to fight beside him. Then her job was to care for him, like a princess and her knight.

Her cheeks coloured once again.

Arturia didn't like the look in Emily's eyes, but she had no other way to get her sword. "F-Fine," she spoke.

Emily nodded, before running back into her house and into her father's room. She knew where he kept everything important: beneath his bed covered under a small stack of hay that was intended for a dog to sleep on had they decided to get one. It was a secret camouflage that she had convinced her mother to share with her. Although, stealing behind her father's back probably wasn't the expected purpose.

So, it was with a modicum of guilt that Emily felt around under her father's bed, and pulled out a small, yet heavy, steel sword. She whispered a silent apology, but reasoned that she was only following her own mother's advice.

_Follow your heart._

"Here," She said as she tossed the sword to Arthur. "We best get going before momma comes to check on us."

Arturia nodded, just happy to be reunited with her weapon. Now all that was left was to chase after the trio of idiots, but how?

A thought struck her then and there: Liamrei. She had definitely grown large enough to carry both her and Emily after the past few years.

Decision made, she and Emily quickly made their way back to her home without getting seen. However… The son of Wolfred was waiting there, arms crossed in front of him. "You're going after them," he stated. "And I'm coming with you."

The son of Wolfred had known since he had seen Arthur storm out of his father's study that he wasn't going to take a 'no' lying down. Therefore, his next course of action was obvious. Be that as it may, what troubled him the most was finding Arthur's home in the first place. He had never taken the initiative to find something per say. It was always easier to send someone else to do the scouting, and then simply follow when all things are well and good.

That is to say, he was exhausted when he finally found the house, and _beyond_ frustrated when he realized the person he was looking for wasn't even there. Yet, he was still man enough to not show his frustration, and it had paid off when the very person he was looking for appeared at that very moment.

Arturia took one look at the son of Wolfred, and answered thusly. "No," she answered quickly, Emily hiding behind her.

Unperturbed as his father had raised him in the arts of politics where even the slightest sign of hesitation could cost one dearly, he smiled condescendingly. "But I know where they'll be."

It was like lightening had suddenly struck Arturia, her face going completely blank. It was true that she and Emily could chase after the idiots, but in what direction? She didn't know what she would do if she found out that she had been riding in the wrong direction.

Grudgingly, she accepted him into the group, but soon came to the largest problem. Liamrei didn't have enough room to carry three people, not without dragging one on the ground, and that was certain death.

"So, why's the peasant coming?"

The son of Wolfred interrupted her thoughts. She balled her hands into fists. "Her name's Emily, not _peasant_ , and if you continue to call her that, then location or not, you're not coming."

Th son of Wolfred clicked his tongue.

"Then _why_ is she coming?" _What does she have to gain?_

Come to think of it, Arturia didn't know either. She turned her gaze on Emily, waiting for an answer.

All attention brought onto her, Emily fiddled with her thumbs and couldn't bring herself to answer. Her heart couldn't possibly take such a massive blow as to admit she had come to simply watch over a single man.

It was silent until Arturia shrugged at the son of Wolfred. She was in Emily's debt and would not press her for her motives.

As for the son of Wolfred, he would have pressed the issue further, had he not considered what it would mean for him. Currently, he needed them to get to the fighting. Otherwise, he'd just remain beneath his father's shadow as the _son of Wolfred_.

Arturia brought a hand to her chin before pursing her lips. It had been several days since she'd learned of her friend and family's escapades, and now she was at a hopelessly far distance away. With the son of Wolfred, she could find their location, but how was she going to get there now that Liamrei was out of the question? Leave Emily? Nonono, it was dishonourable.

At that moment, a great shadow loomed over them.

The beating of wings.

The flurry of the wind.

A gaze of horror.

And a gaze of recognition.

"Beast!" The son of Wolfred called, stumbling back along with Emily.

Arturia's reaction was different. She stepped tentatively towards the massive glowing hawk, now almost six times her height, a hand reaching forward.

"E-Efret?" She called.


	13. Chapter 13

His name was Baron Barwheld, the bastard son of some God-damned-Noble-ingrate from Wales who he refused to call a father. He was the first born, true in blood, and created through the contracts of legal marriage, yet his father did not acknowledge him in favour of the second son. Thus, he was a bastard cast away from home.

He trotted to the front of his company on his horse, the very symbol of everything his family had stripped away from him; full armour, long cape, respect, he was a leader, a _Baron second only to the King_.

Back as a child with chipped teeth, and scraggly dark brown hair, he had never imagined he would one day regain his birth right. It was a sequence of unfortunate events that led him all the way from Wales to Bristol, hiding within the thick piles of hay that traders would often carry from town to town as the seasons grew colder. However, perhaps it was chance, fate even, that he had met a certain Noble family.

His eyes scoured the battlefield placements, but he was getting ahead of himself.

"What are the movements of the enemy?" He asked.

"They appear untroubled captain," was the response.

Baron Barwheld brushed his beard. Strange, based on the reports, he had expected a tenser response to their military presence, yet why?

There were stirrings, word of the creation of Saxon settlements, the first named Wessex to the south of the country. After the former mercenary warrior brothers Hengist and Horsa joined the Saxons, Angles, and Jutes in their invasion near a decade ago, they had begun to lose the war. Long established Romano settlements were being destroyed, their very own people wiped out in favour of the new barbaric races.

The country needed its King, its unifier, now more than ever.

Which stood to reason the cause of his confusion. The barbarians had unified together perhaps a couple years ago, and established themselves as a forceful parasite instigating mass genocide throughout the country, killing all previous inhabitants.

Despite this, Baron Barwheld and the other noblemen, and local Kings had still amassed an admirable rebellion to oppose them. It didn't make sense that there were no traces of anxiety on the enemy's faces. Something was wrong, or perhaps he was simply missing something, but when the war horns blared to signal formation, he knew one thing for certain. He was going to have to charge in blind.

And he Hated it, as a student of Duke Ashton.

* * *

The units had already been positioned, and he was hard pressed for time. Luckily, he was in charge of the detached unit deployed after the enemy had been lured into their ranks.

"Everyone, listen up!" Shirou called. He wasn't exactly sure how he felt about being promoted leader, aside from it being a minor annoyance at best, but for practicality's sake, he would do it. As the leader, his word was final, his commands to be followed, and yet that only held true for experienced leaders who had the trust of their men; he had practically none. The faces in Sir Anders's company staring curiously at him were ones he had never seen before. So, where was the trust?

Regardless, his position as the leader increased the odds of ensuring the lives of those who fought beside him. For even though he may not yet have their trust, he had their honour to rely on: Chivalry, a Knights code of conduct.

"Remove your armour, and lay down all your weapons before me." His command was absurd and he knew it, but he was still the leader, the captain.

He could see the conflicting expressions on the company's faces. Traditional British chain mail and full plate armors took hours to put on and take off. How could they possibly unequip it moments before a war? The answer was simple for him, alteration, an ability that allowed him to change the composition and design of items. Yet still, this probably wasn't what they were expecting from a child called locally as the _Beast Hunter._ Furthermore, he was sure that he had just crushed any expectations these men had in him, and with it, any trust he had hoped to build.

It was Kay, Sir Ector, and Sir Anders that stripped off their armour and weapons first after he helped them out of their armour, and he was thankful. For them, he would not use his magic sparingly.

Opening his left palm, he closed his eyes and began to imagine.

_Armour of vitality._

_Swords of durability._

Three blades flickered and appeared hovering above his palm, mystic codes most suited for each individual.

He heard choked gasps, but paid them no mind. Here, was where he had to concentrate.

The first set of equipment, Sir Ector's, was the first to be worked on. The mystic code of increased vitality hovered, and laid itself flat over the steel breastplate of Sir Ector's armour. He opened his eyes-

_Structural grasping._

-and the blueprints, the making of the armour, became readily apparent to him. The damage, the chinks, the holes in the structures of the atoms, he could see them all. Thus, came the next step.

_Alteration._

At this point, he could no longer hear any noise apart from his own breathing, but he could still feel the incredulous stares.

The blade, the mystic code of vitality, was becoming viscous, seeping itself into the armour as he reworked and reshaped the internal designs of the mystic code. The gaps, the deficiencies of Sir Ector's armour were being filled by the fluid, hardening and strengthening with the properties of the code. This was no longer simply just reinforced armour, but a new mystic code, a mystic mail, an armour of valor, _the armour of vitality._

A simple design was left in wake of the process of merging. A small sword grafted hilt-down from the breastplate.

A single bead of sweat trailed down from Shirou's brow before he moved on to Sir Ector's blade, Arturia's wooden sword, and simply reinforced it further. He had already imbued it with a mystic code of preservation for Arturia a couple years back, and he knew from watching Sir Ector that his greatest weakness was his age. Therefore, the mystic code of vitality.

He quickly moved on to Kay's and Sir Anders's equipment. For both of them, he simply reinforced their armour, but imbued their swords with the remaining two mystic codes. For Kay, to compliment his poisoned sword, he fused the mystic code of pestilence, for Sir Anders, a mystic code of density to make use of his muscled arms.

Kay, Sir Ector, and Sir Anders placed on their equipment, but had no time to appraise them as a clatter of noise alerted Shirou of the new and expectedly much higher pile of equipment before him. He sighed, this was why he had to use his magic sparingly.

Slowly, he looked up to the sight of a company of three-hundred half-naked men in disarray as they all rushed to remove the rest of their armaments, their sweat glistening off their chiseled bodies. However, Palamid stood awkwardly, refusing to remove his armour, but he _did_ lay down his two swords.

Regardless, a strained smile spread across Shirou's lips, as he thought of only one thing at that moment as he offered his help.

_He was glad Arturia wasn't here._

* * *

They couldn't allow the battle to deploy by the river, so they set base on the level ground of a moderately large and dry flood plain to goad the enemy to fight on their terms. It was either fight them on the flood plains, or risk a battle of attrition, in which case, their victory was guaranteed. With fresh supplies and rations on their side, it was all but assured.

It had worked, and now both armies stood facing each other in a tranquil stand-off, Baron Barwheld stationed at the front.

He _hated_ charging in blind, and that was precisely what he had to do in this situation. His unit was the vanguard, the arrow that pierces the path for the main blow, and it was made of the most experienced men, those able to survive nearly everything.

Initial preparations complete, the entire army was positioned into a large arched-formation with the very middle formed as a T-shape with the parallel and perpendicular lines representing a different garrison. It was the design of the Eagles formation: The large arch would charge the enemy, obscure their sight, and allow for the hidden detached unit, the perpendicular garrison, to circle around as the vanguard slowly retreated and inverted the arch, encircling the enemy.

This formation depended heavily on the actions of the detached unit. Essentially, it was the turning point of the battle, and often had been lead flawlessly by Duke Ashton. And to think another Ashton lived? This battle would serve as the proof Baron Frederick, no; as the former Lord Amren had envisioned.

"L-Lord?"

He was brought out of his musings by the uncertainty in his aide's voice. He raised a brow.

"The unit lead by the…Ashton," the aide said carefully, knowing how sensitive the topic was for his lord. "They've stripped themselves of their armour?"

_…_ _.?!_

His head snapped to the Ashton-unit positioned behind him. _They really did._ He felt a vein pop over his forehead before his temper started to flare. Had Baron Frederick been lying to him? Thought him to be a fool perhaps?

He began to yell, but was forced to stop when the enemy army began to stir, ending the stand-off between both armies. The enemy's front line began to move, brandishing their long-spears to ward off a potential cavalry charge, but from their appearance, round wooden shields and dome shaped iron-helms, they were the least experienced of the army. Their rear infantry, and left and right flanks were composed of men carrying axes, swords, and short spears, those were the most experienced enemies. Further on each end, were the cavalry composed of the horses they were able to steal from numerous ravaged towns.

_A smart leader is one who thinks about every action of the enemy, and responds swiftly and accordingly._

Why send the weakest unit? They were expendable, he quickly answered himself.

A test then?

How foolish, to waste one's own numbers against an enemy they had faced multiple times. Or _perhaps-_ he was skeptical of this idea, but it was still one to be explored- they had a change of command? It was the only logical conclusion racing through his mind. The previous leader, a man by the name of Alfred appointed by the aged Hengist, would never act so brash. He was a thinker, one who didn't like to take to the front-lines, preferring to remain protected at the back.

Then how should he proceed?

_The Eagles Formation had never failed._

But that was because of the efforts of Duke Ashton.

He glanced at the detached unit, and clicked his tongue. At least they were putting their equipment back on.

 _Should he take the risk?_ At this point, it was too late to back out after abandoning their position by the river to move to the flood plains.

He had no choice but to trust in the words of that cunning Lord as he charged forward to meet the enemy with his vanguard, beginning the first phase of the Eagles formation: Drawing the enemy in.

* * *

And so, it had begun.

The Knights of Lord Wolfred scrambled to equip their reinforced armour and weapons. Time was of the essence if they were to keep pace with the strategy implemented by the more experienced Lords.

Despite their rushed pace, they still marveled at the feel of their own equipment. Dull blades sharpened, their mass more equally distributed to produce a lighter weight on the sword-arm, and their armour…they just couldn't believe it.

Latches Shirou had called them? They were small bumps that allowed the armour to open and close, how incredibly convenient, especially time wise. They were astonished, most still unable to voice their sheer disbelief. What had used to take hours to put on and take off was done just as easily as putting on clothes. With this fact, they wouldn't have to march in full armour and bath in the sweat of their own extraneous activities to be fully prepared for a bandit attack. All they would need was the precious few moments just before the main assault to place on their armours. It was as easy as slipping one's arm through a shirt. Which begged the question of how?

_A magic beast hunter?_

No, that wasn't right. The act of magic, for no one in the company of Knights could doubt what had just accrued, deserved to be separated from the act of beast hunting. A Wizard then? And the Wizard was their Captain?

"C-Captain?" A hesitant voice asked.

Shirou perked up as he stared at Palamid, the only one who refused to remove his armour to be reinforced. "Yes?" he spoke, causing Palamid to straighten his back.

Palamid had made an oath to himself to never remove his armour in the presence of others as he was plagued by rather uncomfortable memories in his earlier years. Therefore, he only had one choice in this situation. "Your magic," he began. "May you place it on my armour as well?"

Nodding, Shirou placed a hand on Palamid's armour and activated his magic circuits. Circuits thrumming to life, he began the initial diagnostic on the armour, finding the parts that needed reinforcement. However, what he didn't understand was why Palmid refused to simply take off his armour like the other men. For what reason?

He patted Palamid's back, and spoke softly. "It's done." Afterwards, he paused in thought as he regarded the young squire, but kept his thoughts to himself. "Keep close to me," was what he said next.

Palamid bristled, instantly understanding the implications of such a statement. "With all due respect, _Captain,_ I am not someone who needs protection."

Shirou shook his head. "That's not what I meant." He pointed at Palamid's gloveless hands. "You're ambidextrous. I can see it from the callouses," he explained.

"Your point?" Palamid spoke.

"I have a use for you," he said instead. "That's why I'll need you to stay close."

Palamid hummed to himself before nodding. He could accept that reason.

Shirou turned back to the war, watching for his signal to move the unit. He was to look for a single flare, a flaming arrow to signal his entrance into the battlefield. Be that as it may, he would first have to maneuver his unit around the enemy to corner them. The thought of killing soon filled his head. He shifted his mindset to his days working as an enforcer. There were times when people _had_ to be killed, this was one such a time. He could not allow them to live for the possible danger they may impose to Arturia, and he could simply not forgive their actions of massacring town after town.

As they began to move full circle, he paused, his shoulders tensing, and eyes narrowing dangerously. He swore in a low voice, so only he alone could hear it. He wasn't imagining it.

Because that was when _it_ began, moments after the vanguard had charged.

A twitch of his nose.

A startling revelation.

There was another _Magus_ on the battlefield.


	14. Chapter 14

An hour before the start of the battle, and deep within the enemy camp, Troop Commander Gale Tate, frowned as he rested a palm against his forehead. He was young, with pale skin lined with freckles due to too much exposure to the sun, but regardless, he was just barely reaching the end of his twenty-fifth summer.

He stood at roughly seven-feet, his body donned with a large grey mantle that covered his armour of plate and leather. The upper edges of both his gauntlets and greaves were lined with silver wolf's fur, a trophy he had earned in his most recent outing with his father, a nobleman of the Saxon kingdom of Wessex.

Called the Young Wolf, he had pointed brown coloured-eyes, and a rugged square face with a glare that deterred his enemies away from him. His long dirty-blond hair was pulled back into a pony tail held together by thin strips of tied yarn.

"Fools," he whispered, watching his colleagues quarrel about placements.

They had chosen to deploy within the flood plains after watching the opposing force drawing back from the river, Glein. Either way, the situation had become more favourable as their numbers were slightly less than the amassed resistance forces. As such they would have had some difficulties maintaining formation as the enemy forces pushed alongside the rapids. Therefore, an open battle within the flood plains had become an ideal confrontation zone based on the amount of cavalry in their possession and the presently raised morale.

Cavalry had become an important factor in the art of war. Traditionally, they fought with all infantry, an ideal confrontation with no holds barred, but ever since the Britons began to utilize the massive war machines, everything changed.

He felt a migraine coming as he began to massage his temples, contemplating how to best appease his bickering superiors.

Merits and personal gain were all they were after. Rather than think about the repercussions of failure they had fallen into a dubious sense of security all because of _one_ man. A hooded one in a white cloak whose facial features were obscured by his hood and some type of magic that lengthened the shadow cast from the fringes of the hood's lining.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered, glaring at the hooded man brazenly flirting with the young noble ladies. They were brought by other nobles wishing to curry favour from them through their heroics in the battlefield, yet it was also why they were having such difficulty with the placements. Furthermore, two of the ladies were the daughters of the great Hengist, ruler of Kent, a land located in the far southeast of Britain by the border of Essex and Sussex. They weren't even supposed to be here, but after Hengist's most recent trip to Wessex, the man's daughters had pleaded to witness the heroics of his finest men and had joined along into the march.

Gale wasn't fooled however, he could see from their eyes that they simply wished for an adventure before getting married off for political purposes to various nobles owning land in other regions. Yet their presence was the deciding factor. _Morale_ , his father had once spoken to him of its effects on the battlefield. Just as a deer would freeze at a moment's danger, a lack of morale would hinder the joints and cause muscles to grow feeble in the face of an overbearing enemy.

However, he didn't expect that it would have a hidden secondary effect within the commanding ranks. A favour from Hengist was not something to be missed in the face of ambition, and what better way that to get the fancy of one of the man's daughters? Granted, the youngest Lisa, wearing a simple violet one-piece dress, had not even seen her thirteenth summer, but her elder sister, Natalie was reaching her twentieth. She would have been married earlier had it not been for Hengist's tastes in an ideal marriage partner. It wasn't uncommon to marry and have children by the age of thirteen as the right of age for girls was twelve, and fourteen for boys.

Still, enough was enough with all the bickering.

"I'll take the rear," he ended up speaking to end the arguments. Moments later, the bickering nobles left to ready their men.

Alone, he glanced at the hooded man once more, before frowning. No matter how he looked at it, how was that man possibly a wizard?

A wizard of all things? He had no way to prove it as the man had only demonstrated first-hand of his powers to his superiors, and as such, he couldn't help but be skeptical.

"Lady Natalie and Lisa," he spoke as he approached the wizard and the two daughters of Hengist. "I would advise you to stay from this man."

Lady Natalie rose a delicate brow, causing Gale's heart to race. She was without a doubt a beautiful woman. Long dark brown hair, braided to the sides of her head to resemble a delicate crown with the rest of her hair falling freely behind her back, she was simply stunning. Her face was oval, but narrowed a bit at her chin. Fair in complexion, her cheeks possessed a rosy hue, and her thin lips, like her little sister Lisa's, was a vibrant red colour.

"And why should I stay away from this man?" She asked curiously.

Lisa didn't speak, but her soft blue eyes were enough of an indication of her curiousity.

Gale scratched his head while thinking of an answer, but it was then that the wizard stepped forward.

"Now, now," the wizard placated. Gale could only imagine the knowing expression on the man's face. "Pretty flowers are things that all men look to." He turned to face Lady Natalie and brought a hand forward before a violet rose sprung up from beneath his cloak's sleeve. "A violet rose to match those dazzling eyes, and-" he turned towards Lisa. "-a red rose for the young lady to match her innocence."

 _A friggin bard's trick!?_ Gale fumed. How could this man possibly be a wizard? He had seen it just as the man once again moved his arms, more roses hidden away within his sleeve.

Yet before Gale could point out the _wizard's_ trickery, he heard the blare of the horns. It was time for battle. "Lady Natalie, Lady Lisa, the battle is beginning, and it would be best for you both to remain in the camp."

"No." It was little Lisa who spoke out in protest. "We're going to watch."

Gale was hard pressed to rebuke her. This was Hengist's daughter, but like it or not, there was no way he should bring her to the battlefield. It was nothing like how it was depicted in stories of dragons and chivalrous knights.

"Forgive her," Lady Natalie spoke. "She had grown up listening to father's battlefield boasting, and is still in need of proper etiquette lessons for noble ladies."

"O-Of course," he spoke hurriedly, grateful to Lady Natalie for the assistance, but her next words poured cold water over his relief.

"That's why I'll be going with her," Lady Natalie finished.

Gale was speechless, not even noticing as the wizard patted his shoulder.

"Look at the bright side of things, ugh, yeah, that!?" The wizard laughed awkwardly for a moment before coughing into his hands. "You have a _wizard_ on your side."

That thought wasn't very comforting. With resignation, he asked the other noble ladies still in the tent to quickly leave the battlefield on their carriages. Even if he had just gone behind the interests of the other nobles with his order to send the ladies away, in the end, it was safer for them to do so. Now if only Lady Natalie and Lisa could understand that. He sighed dejectedly before following the two Ladies out of the tent.

The wizard left alone to his musing, breathed out slowly, his back straightening. Beneath his hood, his face was neutral, his eyes seeming to look across at everything at once. The battle had begun, and with it, it was time for him to move.

He ignored the calls of the noble ladies he was indulging just moments before. Because for now, he simply no longer had the time. Fixing the wrinkles out of his cloak, the wizard stepped out towards the tent followed by the other women.

Back with Gale,

He had readied his soldiers: Two-hundred cavalry and around eight-hundred infantry armoured with steel mesh, or plate.

Both of the daughters of Hengist were near him at the safest location in his troop of men, the very center. It was ironic really, the one given the position of rear-guard would be the one most able to gain favour from the to two noble ladies, yet Gale thought nothing of that fact. Rather, he was highly disappointed in the leisurely attitudes of the soldiers of the other nobles and even a few of his own. A wizard had that much insurance to the victory of a war. All that he could see reflected in their eyes was who would accumulate the most merits. Taking the opposing commander's head should be enough to warrant more land for the noble, and riches for his soldiers.

"I will make one thing clear," his voice resonated through his troop of men who stopped their actions to listen intently. "Do _not_ assume the battle is won. Many of you are experienced and have once served under my father, thus you should all know what it would mean to underestimate an opponent. _Life and Death!_ "

Not just to his soldiers, but his shouts carried across to the other companies of soldiers who stiffened at his words.

Lady Natalie had her mouth open in a large O-shape, as the speech Gale was giving was far different from the words of her father.

_Make the enemies fear you, and already you have won the war. Weaklings will remain weaklings._

"Today is a red day, a dawn of another war. Let the lord bless your blades, and grant us victory in these lands. The land of our Kingdom, our new home. For _Wessex_!"

"For Wessex!"

"For Wessex!"

A thundering chorus of shouts resounded from Troop Commander Gale's company of men, the call spreading out further and further to the other soldiers of different regiments. Lady Natalie and Lisa were enthralled by the spectacle. Stories were on thing, but listening to the battle cry of thousands of men fighting in the name of their kingdom was on an entirely different level.

Upon noticing the reaction Gale's words had on their soldiers, and quickly realizing the presence of the daughters of Hengist beside him, the other nobles bitterly reigned in their displeasure. Their only hope of recognition now lied in their ability to acquire victory and the enemy commander's heads.

Therefore, the other nobles sent out an initial cavalry charge of the newest recruits as they saved the more experienced for later.

However, with ambitions blinding their judgment, they acted hastily.

When the opposing side sent in their cavalry lead by Baron Barwheld, they readily sent even more of their own cavalry. However, unlike the charging Baron, the other nobles did not leave from the safety of their positions for they believed their lives more valuable than the soldiers before them.

This was a stark difference between them and the Baron who lead from the front.

As the two cavalries collided, spittle flew as Baron Barwheld tossed his mace at a soldier's face before pulling his sword out from his sheath. The horses neighed as they bucked and kicked at the other horses nearby. The men who had been dismounted were left at their mercy, kicked or trampled to death under seven-hundred-and-fifty-pounds of force that caved in their chest cavities and crushed bones.

 _We have the advantage,_ Gale deduced. They had the larger cavalry and even now he could see the Baron's cavalry slowly retreating. Yet Gale was suspicious due to the lack of panic present on the Baron's forces. Furthermore, from his distance at the rear-guard, he could see the infantry of the opposing army spreading thin on either flank as the Baron's forces continued to retreat. His eyes widened in that instant.

"The cowards, they're retreating. Charge!" One of the nobles mobilized their men and pushed forth to pursue the fleeing enemy.

" _No_!" Gale yelled, but he was too far in the rear for his voice to carry in all the noise of the battlefield. "Damn it," he clenched his fists before staring towards his men. "Form flanks. Left flank and Right Flank, we can't allow the enemy to encircle us! Left flank with me to-"

His voice trailed off as he caught sight of Lady Natalie and Lisa who were ignorant of the circumstance. He couldn't leave them, nor could he spare too many of his troops to aid in the war-front as it was imperative to protect the daughters of the ruler of Kent. Why the _hell_ did he allow them to be here? So what if he earned Hengist's ire, it would be still be better for them to live. Grudgingly, he accepted his decision before turning a solemn gaze to his Right flank. "Right flank," they stared back without judgment, they knew what he was going to say. "Divide in two and do your best to stop them from fully encircling us."

It was a death sentence, and they knew it. They were only a company of a thousand men strong, and of them, only two -hundred-and-fifty were going to be sent on either side of the encirclement to buy time for their comrades to realize what was happening. Gale did not have as much of a standing as the other nobles that came with him, and as such, he had less troops. In contrast, the enemy army held a substantial amount to maintain the encirclement.

"Understood," the men spoke solemnly, but even before they could leave, the thundering noise of steel alerted them to the presence of another force.

Gale cursed as he saw a troop of roughly two-hundred men strong approaching from the rear. Based on the flag held by the flag bearer, the symbol of the wolf, this was a trained regiment of another noble. Their steel armaments further proved the notion as only a noble, or individuals with high standing would have access to such material. Even for him, the common soldiers in his troop utilized iron with thin strips of steel welded in place by local blacksmiths to give the swords their sharp edge.

 _A wolf?_ Gale mused. Perhaps it was time to go on another hunt. The sudden indignant yells of the other nobles behind him alerted him that they finally understood what they had done. Their best hope now was to pierce through the thinnest flank.

"Shield formation," he called. His men quickly formed a row of men with large shields held forward, while archers readied themselves in the back. This should be enough to halt the advance of the troop of two-hundred strong. Still, the circumstances had already turned dire, so, where the bloody hell was the wizard?

His eyes scanned the battlefield, only to see nothing. His intuition had been right, the man was a fraud. And now all those soldiers who took their victory for granted were caged in by the enemy.

This wasn't good, but he was confident that the battle was not yet lost. He would have to endanger the two daughters, but if he positioned his troops to aid in a piercing attack with the main force, they could break the encirclement and send the opposing army into pandemonium by flipping the situation around.

But first, they would have to deal with the enemy in the back.

Mere infantry was all they were, not even a single horse to aid them, and no spears of any kind either. "Send a cavalry and see if we can end this early."

Fifty of the two-hundred cavalry charged forward, no doubt about the outcome. One of the most dangerous situations on the battlefield was fighting a cavalry without spears or horses to combat the charge. War horses were large and heavy animals that could break through any number of men standing in the path. Therefore, it was the invention of spears that were able to deter horses as they could be propped into the ground with their bladed tips pointed forwards. Thus, killing the horse before it could do any damage.

The cavalry should have no problem dealing with ground infantry which was the entire purpose of mounted warfare.

Yet, the wolf's troop of two-hundred didn't falter in their charge, blades held out at the ready.

It was then that Gale noticed it, a lone archer at the crest of a small elevated portion of land. He wore a faded brown mantle over his shoulders, his body covered in light leathers that allowed him extra mobility to navigate around. His face was plain: Square, high cheek bones, and a rough scraggily beard.

The winds blew gently down the hills, swaying the long grass and water lilies of the flood plain before a single word echoed out across the flat expanse.

" _Àirde na Gaoithe._ "

The wind stopped, the sudden stillness confusing the charging cavalry men, but their horses were different. Neighing, they frantically attempted to disperse in multiple directions to the bewilderment of their riders who forced them back on the path, yet by then it was too late.

_Like the coming of a summer storm._

_Nature calls upon its own. It is the wind._

_Strong._

_Unrelenting._

_Chilling._

_With the dancing of the flowing grass,_

_It was a herald to the rapid return of the wind._

Gale couldn't breath as he watched the fifty-cavalry he had sent suddenly disappear into the air in a storm of twisting wind after a single arrow embedded itself in the middle of the charging formation. Mind racing, he immediately ordered for the rest of the cavalry to attack the lone archer. "Disperse! Do not remain in groups and attack him from all sides," his words were spoken with a hint of panic. What he had just seen could only be one thing, _magic_. Real magic.

Were they facing a wizard? No, he shook his head. A wizard wouldn't rely on a single bow. Then a magic bowman? His face fell as he remembered the rumours spreading throughout Wessex. _The Swift Wind._

He didn't believe that it could possibly have been true. It should have been no more than an enemy scare tactic designed to demoralize their men. His heart began to race. If the rumour of the bowman were true, then-!? He would have to report to his father, all of Wessex even about his findings.

Before he could think further, the wolf knights arrived within meters of his ordered shield formation. Arrows pelted them relentlessly from the archers, but not even a scratch could be seen.

What was far more horrifying however, was when he witnessed for himself how easily their swords _pierced_ through steel. Whenever blade met shield and armour, it would cut straight through. Even their weapons were reduced to stumps with each swing.

_The weapons and armour of the Iron Forge._

In the face of the wolf knight's onslaught, the shield formation quickly fell with the archers retreating.

Gale had just lost a hundred men, and not a single wolf knight had been killed. Although some had become tired, their armour stained crimson. The weight of the situation began to weigh heavily on his shoulders.

"Lady Natalie, Lady Lisa, _get on the horses!_ " He yelled urgently. Things had just drastically changed. If anything, retreat was the best option, but he would have to make sure that the daughters made it out alive.

Numbers were still on his side, and despite the superiority of the wolf knight's equipment, they were only human.

When they can no longer swing their swords, that would be the single moment.

But,

Already in the face of inevitable defeat, Gale and the Saxon army's faces fell into despair as they looked to the heavens and its looming shadow.

_Gods, have you forsaken us?_

As if a bloody devil from the depth of hell were staring daggers at their backs, a massive bird with a wing span of twelve-feet soared within the sky, its eyes scouring the battlefield. Pinioned feathers of the darkest brown, and smaller feathers of a lighter shade, emitted an ominous ethereal blue glow.

The men on either side of the opposing forces paused and swallowed slowly. Their mouths went dry, a cold sweat perspiring from their bodies as they tensed their muscles. Eyes dilated, they held back their instinct to run when the bird cawed and descended down from the sky in a wisp like trail of azure mist. What kind of infernal beast was this?

The world erupted in pillars of blue flame, lined and tinted on the edges was a shimmering shade of crimson fire.

Efret had landed.

* * *

"Rally to the Lord's Hawk!" Baron Barwheld exclaimed with vigour as he head-butted the knight crossing swords with him. It was the Duke's hawk, there was no doubt about it despite its size. The bird who had always found its favourite spot to be perched on the shoulders of a great man.

_Ashton blood lives._

Baron Barwheld could feel the blood roaring from within him, the flames of loyalty to his most revered benefactor once again igniting from the pits of his being. On this day, on a single oath, he decided for the sake of that one man and the gratitude he felt towards him, that Ashton blood would _never_ again be spilled.

The encirclement had worked, and in the confusion, the enemy commanders had been unable to effectively rally their men. Yet that was due to the efforts of the wolf knights who were facing a force five times their own and stalling them from aiding the main force.

He had no doubts anymore as he charged forth with his men at center march. He would end things quickly and see for himself the descendant of the wayward Duke of Bristol.

* * *

Shirou had yet to truly participate in the fighting yet. All he had been doing was use a bow to ward off any fatal attacks to the Knights of Wolfred.

Palamid was fighting near him, a flag pole in his left hand, and his sword in the other. For that was the intended purpose. Looking from the enemy's view, Palamid looked to be the leader of the troop, but his true intentions came to light after shouting his next order. "Go!"

Palamid nodded before he waved the flag and lead half of the troop to rally before the enemy, the action drawing the enemy's eyes away as Sir Ector, Kay, and Sir Anders lead a small group to the enemy archers. Despite the reinforced equipment, the user could still feel the impact of the collision. Even worse was when the sound would resound within their helmets, disorientating them.

Orders aside, Shirou turned to stare at the biggest surprise of the battlefield. Efret.

It was able to distinguish friend from foe and was mercilessly burning away any who would oppose it. Yet, the more pressing issue was how had it gotten so large?

He blinked, watching as two blond heads, followed by a brown one popped up from Efret's back before fumbling down towards the ground.

"Land," the brown-haired boy laughed strangely. " _Land_. Never again will I ever part with you!"

"I-I agree," the other two blonds seconded the notion.

Arturia?! And was that Emily?

Instinct nearly caused him to leap the large distance towards them through reinforcement, but there was a reason he hadn't acted out too much on the battlefield. Even now he could still smell it, the signature of another magus. He couldn't recklessly display his abilities, nor could he show his weakness in helping others.

If the magus was cruel enough, he or she may very well use the people he cared about against him. Instead, he locked eyes with Efret and placed his trust in the bird who had proven its loyalty time and time again.

For now, he would lay low and continue to scour the battlefield for the mysterious magus. Based on the smell, the magus was not stationary, but rather was moving around the battlefield. How difficult.

Nodding one last time to Efret, Shirou went to aid Sir Ector who was fighting alongside Kay. Rather than use his new sword, Kay had opted to use a simple reinforced one. No matter how lethal the blade of poison was, for a knight like Kay, he would never use it unless necessary. Regardless, he and Sir Ector were making quick work with the archers and the men blocking their way.

As for Sir Anders, each swing of his sword was enough to launch two men a distance of over twelve-feet as the mystic code of density imbued within the sword caused it to switch from extremely light, to extremely heavy.

Looking at them work their way through the enemy force, Shirou decided that it would be better to continue aiding the front line. Many of the wolf knights had already begun to tire out, their strikes flying lazily in the air. In fact, if it weren't for the sharpness of their blades able to cut through steel, he wouldn't be surprised if the Saxons easily parried their blows away.

Glancing towards the elevated land, he nodded as he made sure Gerrard was doing alright against the cavalry. If anything, he had to give the man credit. He was fast, and quick witted, creating a trench around him using his special arrows which he then switched out for normal ones. The horses were unable to even get close to him.

With the knowledge of the safety of his friends, Shirou began to earnestly end the battle.

Arrow after arrow was let loose from his bow, each striking and killing an enemy.

Seeing this, the Knights of Wolfred pushed forth, drawing strength from their courage. They didn't voice it, but they were grateful to Shirou for saving them from fatal situations. A sword to the eye, a chipped blade to the exposed neck, all were circumstances that the young troop commander had saved them from. Granted he wasn't able to save everyone, but the situation was highly favourable.

At the front line with Palamid.

Palamid used the banner in his arm to make distance from the enemy. He wasn't the person in charge. That role fell onto Bors, Sir Anders's senior apprenticed knight who had just made it past his fifteenth summer. He didn't like to talk much about his past, but Sir Anders had always been respectful.

Bors stood a head taller than him, his height making him stand out amongst the rest of the knights, but that was why Sir Anders had entrusted him with the duty of second in command. He had great vision and was clever and insightful beyond his years. His quick judgements were always carefully instructed with self-scrutiny, never calling for an order that couldn't be done.

Admittedly, it made Palamid a tad jealous of him. While he ended up forced to work on the fields, Bors continued to diligently train, but he supposed the experience was enlightening. For despite losing to that blond squire, for there was no way a mere commoner could possess such sword skill, he had realized that they both possessed the same problem.

He ducked under an enemy's swing and mercilessly stabbed forward with the short blade in his right. The strike rent armour, flesh, and bone apart like paper. Each strike he delivered was met with hardly any resistance, something all the wolf knights could relate to. The Ashton was amazing. He knew he was an Ashton as Sir Anders was very loose lipped when drinking his preferred poison, but only he and Bors knew that. More to the point, the ramifications of his magic were enormous. With an army of only two-hundred infantry, they were pushing back a squadron of a thousand. He couldn't even imagine what it would be like to fight an army whose armour never chipped or broke, and whose swords could cut through any other weapons of warfare.

There was no doubt in Palamid's mind. After this battle, word would soon spread of the calibre of the weapons they were using. He would have to be more cautious when leaving his armour and swords unattended from now on. Thieves and bandits would jump at the chance if presented.

He blocked an incoming strike with the pole arm and finally decided to get rid of the thing before drawing his other sword. Besides, he had already fulfilled what the Ashton had wanted of him.

It was then that he noticed that fighting near the oddly familiar glowing bird, was the son of Wolfred. He clicked his tongue as he signaled to Bors about the situation.

With a nod of confirmation in return, Palamid left to fight beside the Lord's son.

For as tough as Lord Wolfred could be, he did not want to see the man grieve for the loss of his only child. Besides, the Son of Wolfred was still his friend.

The Son of Wolfred's presence took him by surprise, but it didn't stop him from thinking rationally. Therefore, he tossed the son of Wolfred his second sword. That sword that was able to cut through shield and armour as if it were nothing would be his lifeline should he get into a situation he could not escape from.

Shoving past an enemy, he froze as he stared down at the blond who had defeated him all those years ago. "You," he spoke in surprise. His father had said that the particular individual would not be coming.

Rather than speak, Arturia batted away an enemy's blade and disarmed him before hesitating to go in for the kill. She had killed animals before during game hunts, but killing another person was completely different. Still,

Her hesitation had allowed the enemy to reorient himself. Striking again with a sword he had picked up from the ground, Arturia reacted on instinct and stabbed her blade forward. She froze as the warm blood began to seep over her hands.

"Idiot," Palamid grimaced as his body moved to protect a comrade.

In her frozen state, Arturia had not reacted fast enough to the attack of another enemy.

Clang!

In a collision of steel, the offending blade shattered upon contact with Palamid's helm, but in exchange, the helm was lopped right of his head.

Long silky brown locks fell in waves down his back. His face, angelic with smooth skin and a small nose in contrast to his narrow jaw-line. He was leagues above merely beautiful. It was enough to temporarily take the enemy's breath away, and long enough before the enemy was completely smothered by Efret's flame.

Arturia stared in shock at Palamid, and he simply stared back carefully because at that moment, both came to their own assumptions.

For Palamid, as he continued to stare at Arturia's feminine face, he ascertained once again why he had come to her aid. The exact same problem that they no doubt both possessed.

Because Arturia was like himself, a boy _cursed_ with the beauty of a woman.

* * *

"All hands, retreat!" Gale shouted once again. "Protect the daughters of Hengist with your lives!"

The battlefield was a nightmare. His forces were getting systematically decimated, and he could expect no help from the other nobles as they two were on the verge of defeat.

With the arrival of the damned bird, all morale had been lost. There was simply no winning this battle.

He stared across off towards the giant bird, watching as two younglings, one with long brown hair and the other with short blond, make quick work of his men trying to put an end to the beast. They moved far too skilled to merely be green horns, and the blond one was cutting down troop after troop. At first, he had assumed that the blond was dead the moment she froze upon taking a life, but the blond was saved and had gotten over her first kill. The fact that she froze proved to him however, that they were green horns.

What kind of monsters did the Britons train? How could a child be that skilled at that young an age?

It didn't matter.

He quickly mounted his horse and rode off in the opposite direction from the daughters of Hengist. This was suicide, and he knew it, but it must be done for the sake of the daughters. "I am Troop Commander Gale Tate, come after me if you dare!"

Gale's proclamation was met with silence before he heard the battle cries honing in on his location. They were retreating, half of his remaining three-hundred men had ridden with him while the others stayed behind to distract the Britons from realizing the daughters escape. And it had worked.

Losing a few men and horses in the chase, Gale was able to get away on the speed of his horse, just barely escaping the sights of a knocked arrow.

Gerrard sighed as he dropped his sights away from the fleeing troop commander.

There was no point in anymore blood shed for the battle was already won. Besides, from his distance away, he had come to understand Gale Tate's plan. His consciousness wouldn't allow him to strike such a brave man in the back. Not when he had already painted such a big target to divert the attention away from the two fleeing horses only he could see on the other side of the battlefield.

For all Gale Tate knew, the plan had completely worked. At least he believed so, not knowing that Kay had unexpectedly run into the two daughters. And that was why Gerrard could only pity the man and his efforts.

* * *

At this point, Kay didn't know what to do. The noble women in front of him were quivering in fright, realizing the danger they had found themselves in.

He could instantly tell based on their colours that they were noble ladies of standing. Purple on the little one's dress was a dead give-away. He knew what he had to do. As hostages, they could no doubt prove highly valuable, but, he couldn't bring himself to do it. He knew what happened to hostages behind closed doors, and now more than ever with the rising hostilities on both sides, how could he possibly condemn a girl no older than Arturia? Honour and Chivalry, it was his basis as a knight that he had spent years subtly training Arturia in. He'd be a hypocrite to his own ideals should he follow through. At first, he had contemplated just taking the older one, but how would the younger possibly be able to return home? She wouldn't. Nobles were easy to distinguish between the common people, and more than a few had animosity towards them. What kind of situation did he find himself in?

He frowned as he sheathed his sword. Enough blood had been spilled today. He locked eyes with Natalie, his face heating up as he fully comprehended how beautiful she looked. "Go," he spoke slowly before turning around to his approaching comrades. "There are no enemies here!" He called before leaving the two women alone to escape.

And thus, the battle had ended with a complete victory, the resounding cheers of his comrades the signal to rest after a long day of violence.

However, for Shirou, the battle had just begun. He had finally found him, the other magus.

Rather than celebrating, Shirou quietly slipped away and maneuvered around the battlefield to its furthest vacant perimeter.

Breathing slowly, his eyes narrowed as he made for the distant hills where the potent scent of magic continued to filter through his nose.

There, he met a hooded man resting his back against a tree, and staring curiously at him. There wasn't any doubt in Shirou's mind that the man knew he was a magus as well, which lead to his first questions. "Who are you and why are you here?" He would rather not fight against another magus unless necessary, especially the magi of an older generation as the strength of a magus decreased generation after generation as their mysteries were lost through time.

Furthermore, the man had not lent his aid to the Saxon army which meant he wasn't affiliated with the enemy, or at least that his interests lied elsewhere. Therefore, if he had attacked first, he would have gave the other magus an incentive to retaliate against him, and he saw no purpose in making more enemies.

The man pushed off the tree, and brushed off the dirt over his cloak before standing proudly with both hands resting by his waist. A moment later he spoke.

"Well, my little fiery Magus friend," the hooded man took a bow before drawing back his hood which then transformed his attire into a stunning white robe. "You may call me the Wizard Nilrem."


	15. Chapter 15

The man in in front of him wore a dazzling white robe around his body, and he was a man more suited to the term 'pretty.' Long silver hair cascaded down his back, and his face was smooth with slightly rounded cheeks and bangs that fell just near his grey coloured eyes.

"Are you not yet amazed?" Nilrem asked, tapping his staff against the ground as he leaned on it with one arm.

Far from amazed, Shirou was debating on calling out this farce. Nilrem was obviously Merlin. There was no other wizard as renowned in the era as him. The greatest magus to have lived, other than Solomon, by the accounts of Rin and her associates from the Clock Tower, the central training and enforcement hub of the residents of the twilight world.

Even if he had never met this man before, even if he had never once spoken to him, he could never forget him. Based on his appearance and even his mannerisms, he was the one who could clearly be said to have been at the root of it all.

_In the dreams._

A connection between him and Saber in the Holy Grail War. As Master and Servant, the two shared a pact able to convey one's memories through dreams.

"That depends, if you believe I don't know who you really are," Shirou spoke.

"Indeed, I already know what you're thinking, but uhm well," Nilrem placed a hand on his chin. "Let's just say that there are some matters I won't speak of at this moment."

With a wave of his hand, two large roots sprouted from the ground and formed into two small stumps. "Well, take a seat," Nilrem instructed.

Shirou took a moment to decide on a course of action, but ultimately decided that it was best for him to observe Merlin in person than to rely on just Saber's memories alone. To him however, one thing was clear. He would need Merlin's help to assure Arturia a happy future, and for that he was willing to do anything. Even if he harbored a dislike towards the actions Merlin took in Saber's memories, the Merlin before him now had not yet done those acts. And he never will so long as he had any say in it.

Tentatively, he sat down, placing the bow he had slung on his shoulder on the ground as a show of his focus. There was only one question he wanted to ask, and now would be the best time. "Why did you wait for me? It's entirely possible for you to have just left." There was no way the world's greatest mage did not possess a means of fast travel.

"Not going to ask why I came here?" Nilrem asked a tad surprised.

"I can guess that you wouldn't have told me anyway," Shirou said. "We've just met and its unreasonable to demand answers at this point."

"I see I see," Nilrem nodded his head."I suppose my evaluation of you was a tad off. I suppose I can remove 'naïve' from the assessment."

On what bases was he being tested on? Somehow, Shirou decided that he would rather not know the answer.

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to share your magecraft?"

Shirou shook his head. He was no longer the fool who would reveal his cards before even assessing the situation. It was something that had taken Rin countless years to at least get him to consider. That and to smile pleasantly in the company of others.

"Stop that," Nilrem instantly replied. "I don't know why but seeing that smile on your face is quite off putting. Maybe its cause you're not a woman."

"Fine then, I was just taught it best to smile at times like these," Shirou spoke.

"If you would stop, I will answer your question, but in turn, you answer mine."

Equal exchange. He could agree with that. After all it was the first thing one would have to bring up when in an exchange of information. That, or bargain with material goods and future favours.

"The reason I had waited for you is quite simple, curiosity. You are a person, that even I, the greatest Wizard in the land am unable to see what your future may hold."

Understandable, Shirou rested his head on his hand. For someone like Merlin who was said to be able to foresee the future, his arrival into the era would inevitably cause a change in the entire timeline, but to him it didn't matter. So long as the outcome leads to one that's the most ideal, that's all he could strive to work towards.

"Since that is all, it's now my turn." Nilrem stared directly into Shirou's eyes. "What is your purpose in befriending that child?"

If it wasn't for the way Nilrem had noticed the way the two looked at each other on the battlefield, curiosity or not, he definitely wouldn't have waited to confront Shirou. Except this matter was a matter he couldn't let off so easily without an answer.

 _He's talking about Arturia,_ Shirou instantly deduced. Of course, he would. Matters that concerned her, would justly concern this great Wizard. It was why he had aided in acquiring King Uther's wife after all.

After a moment of him not answering, Nilrem once again asked, growing a tad impatient.

" _Why_ would you stay so close to this child?"

Shirou straightened his back before answering, staring directly at Nilrem's face. "I can see the potential, of what this child will eventually become and wish to become a pillar of support," he spoke without pause.

"And how would you know that?" Nilrem frowned. "Her potential I mean?"

"I can see the future," he humorlessly joked.

A hint of surprise fell over Nilrem's face. For some reason, he could tell that the boy was lying, but another part of him wouldn't settle down on the issue either. "Truly? Then what do you see in that future."

Shirou didn't speak for a while, and instead turned his gaze to the bustling activity of the military camp celebrating their recent victory. " _A sword in the stone_ ," he spoke softly, reaffirming his goals.

The rustling of clothes and the thump of a staff was the only thing that alerted him that Nilrem had suddenly stood up, a silent calculative gleam in his eyes. After a moment, he sighed before sitting back down.

"Those words, am I to believe that you will uphold them?" The tone in which Nilrem was speaking had suddenly changed along with his demeanor. No longer was he laid back and relaxed, instead now all that Shirou could see was a man focused in all seriousness.

"Of course," he answered back in kind. "I had made an oath that I would do all in my power to protect her."

"Even though your blood is tied with the blood of the beasts," Nilrem spoke grimly.

"What?" Shirou didn't understand what Nilrem meant.

"From the moment, I laid eyes on you at that battlefield, my mixed blood began calling. You may not know what all this means at the moment, but you will in time. And when that time comes, you must remember the best of intentions may not always have the best of consequences." Nilrem set aside his staff and crossed his arms in front of him. " _Always_ keep that in mind."

"I, I don't understand?" Of course, he couldn't understand it. Half of what was just said didn't make any sense to him, but Nilrem seemed to have the utmost confidence in his speech.

Rather than answering, Nilrem took his staff and lightly pressed it onto the Ashton Magic Crest. A small light shone as a grimace appeared over Nilrem's face. "You yourself may just be the one that the child must be wary of," he spoke. "But still, I have understood your resolve, and the _will_ of that man."

His breath hitched. Him, endanger Arturia? No, there was no way he could _ever_ allow that to happen. "W-What do you mean?" He demanded, pushing away Nilrem's staff, and standing up from the stump he was sitting on.

"I cannot tell you," Nilrem spoke as he too stood up, and dusted his clothes. "That is a matter to be settled by the beasts."

Shirou fell silent, unable to comprehend himself ever hurting Arturia. There was simply just no possibility of that happening.

"Regardless," Nilrem muttered to himself as he turned to leave. "But I suppose that's what makes life fun. So, until next time little magus, and don't forget what was spoken here today."

A moment passed, then two, before a single word escaped Shirou's mouth.

"Wait!"

* * *

Arturia hesitated as she watched Emily and the Son of Wolfred make their way to the allied camp set up adjacent to the battlefield. On one hand, she wished to join them and reach her three idiots as fast as possible, but her curiosity was preventing her from doing so.

"It's got to be here somewhere."

She turned and watched Palamid wandering around the remains of the battlefield, her expression shocked beyond belief.

Beautiful flowing hair, a tender face, and even a pair of round blue eyes, making Arturia come to a conclusion she knew could not be false.

" _You_ ," she spoke uncertainly, garnering Palamid's attention.

As if Palamid could understand her intentions, a soft voice escaped past his lips. "Truth be told, even now I find it hard to believe that we are the same."

 _Yes,_ Arturia nodded her head. There was no doubt Palamid was a _woman_ like herself. A slight pang of jealousy blossomed in her heart staring at Palmid's earnest gaze. The word beautiful was simply not enough of a description, and she felt inadequate staring at such a splendor that required it to be hidden behind a helm. Still, she voiced her opinions. "Is the full helm really important?" Sure, they offered more protection by covering the whole face, but visibility and reaction time were reduced as a result.

Palamid glanced at her before scowling. "Surely you don't mean to say you prefer being looked down upon because of our appearance?"

She frowned as well, recalling memories of the sparing matches between her and the other young Squires in Bristol. Just because of her appearance, a feminine face and a slender body unable to show even the barest hints of any large muscle tones, didn't mean that she was incapable. "That's when you prove them wrong," she simply said. "Make them see the error in underestimating a pretty face."

Palamid nodded. "Agreed," he spoke before lowering his voice. "But don't you find that expression on their faces beyond even unpleasant?"

Arturia rose a brow, unable to understand what Palamid meant.

Palamid brushed back his hair behind his left ear, lips thinning before speaking out in contempt. "When they praise you with flowery words and gift you with gifts before slyly trying to wrap their arms around you? Never before have I felt such fear from my fellow men."

"I'm sorry, but I'm not sure what you mean." The most she could relate to was when Sir Ector and Kay would ruffle her hair.

Palamid didn't answer and instead knelt down to push aside a pile of corpses out of the way. Yet still there was nothing beneath them. He clicked his tongue. He was sure it had dropped here somewhere. "It doesn't matter if you don't know. You'll understand as soon you join a Knight order, but all that you have to know is that I'm already sick of it." He laughed derisively. "Did you not know that my comrades even refuted our vows as Knight brothers. We eat together and we sleep together, but I'm barred entry to the changing halls and instead given a different designated area to change? What a load of horse shit!" Palamid spoke as he recounted more and more previously repressed memories. "Who do they think they are thinking to lecture me about preserving my own dignity as if I should know better!"

Arturia smiled wryly, unable to voice anything of use at the moment, but internally she was admiring Palamid's boldness. To change in a company of men, she could see clearly now how much effort that would take. But in her case, she couldn't risk getting discovered.

"And that's precisely why till this day I always wear a helm," Palamid finished his rant before staring honestly at Arturia. "Which is why I must find my helmet."

Arturia nodded slowly before asking the obvious. "If it's a helmet, aren't there plenty around?" She didn't flinch in the slightest even as Palamid brow rose.

"Do you not understand?" Palmid fell silent for a moment before sighing. "Well I suppose you wouldn't know since you weren't here, but Sir Shirou enchanted the equipment of mine and my Knight brother's with a mysterious magic. Even it's just my head piece, it is already highly valuable to me."

If what Palamid spoke was true, then she could understand his prolonged search. Her armour and weapons as well were already enchanted by Shirou, and the protectiveness of her armour when compared to regular plate was incomprehensible.

"To me, and the other Knights, this gift by Sir Shirou is a treasure beyond compare," Palamid spoke as he once again began scouring the battlefield. "Did you not see how many blows were shrugged off, and how many weapons and plates of steel were cut through? It wouldn't a surprise if someone had plotted to _steal_ it."

In terms of war, superior equipment often trumps skill. When a spear is placed in the hands of a peasant, then that peasant now had the ability to kill without much effort. Similarly, if two knights of even standing and ability fought, then truly it was a matter of who possessed the sharper blade. Even earlier, the advantages were displayed in full sight of the opposing army and allied army. A mere foot troop of two-hundred clashed evenly with a substantially greater force.

News of this battle would no doubt soon spread throughout the country, and Palamid had no doubts that if given the chance, thieves would jump into the fray. It was why Bors had given him and the rest of the Knights a keen reminder to keep vigilant watch of their belongings, from enemy and ally alike. The Knights could trust each other, but they could not say the same for the others individuals who served a different Lord.

"Ah! Found it!" Palamid spoke, his hands digging through another pile of corpses to reveal the helmet beneath.

Arturia released a small sigh before she looked in the direction of the camp looking for three certain individuals. She wasn't able to speak with them in the midst of the fighting, but now she had nothing to bar her away.

"If I may ask a question that's been bothering me," Palamid began as he and Arturia walked to camp. "Was that the same bird who attacked me in our previous duel?"

"Yes," was the swift answer.

"It's too big to be," Palamid promptly rebuked.

"They grow fast, but why are you asking all of a sudden."

Palamid stared blankly at Arturia as Efret walked leisurely beside them. It had grown tired of being surrounded by other humans vying to glimpse its magnificent visage. Rumours had already started that it was some sort of divine bird granted from above to bring victory. It didn't help that Efret didn't attack any who approached him, but instead simply relaxing itself within its feathers, content to be near its master's vicinity. Yet it didn't forget what its master had asked of him.

"Oh him? He's harmless. He's just been following me a lot recently."

"Harmless," Palamid thought back to all the burnt corpses scattered across the war zone. "I think not. But if anything, we will part ways here. Father is expecting me."

Arturia nodded as Palmid left to enter one of the tents designed for high ranking individuals in the military camp. She did the same, but instead headed in the direction where the banner of Wolfred stood proudly.

As soon as they had entered camp, people once again surrounded Efret, their gazes in awe, and some even going as far as bowing. Most were beginning to consider it a _holy beast._ Even more so when many of the soldiers and Knights on their side heard that commander Barwheld had sent an order to rally to the glorious bird. None would argue of Efret's contributions to the battlefield, which was why an assortment of food was laid out in front of him. It wasn't a human so its merits could not warrant the distribution of land or a large sum of money, but instead, they would spare no expense to feed their mighty benefactor.

Noticing the food laid out in front of Efret, Arturia gave a nod before leaving Efret to enter into the camp of the Knights of Wolfred. Looking at how many other soldiers and Knights from the various other towns were surrounding the camp to get a look at the esteemed Knight troop, she felt pride knowing that they originated from her home town.

Ever since the end of the battle, silent whispers and boisterous rounds of praise echoed throughout the camp for the presumed suicide squad. With a strength of merely two-hundred, no one expected the Knight troop to triumph, even more so with news of the superior quality of their equipment. Something she knew quite well from an early age as most of hers were also enchanted with protections.

Still, for the other soldiers to see a sword cut through stone first hand like it was nothing, was an entirely different experience. And who else was demonstrating the superior quality of the weapon than the Son of Wolfred who was using Palamid's borrowed sword. Regardless of the force of the swing, or how mediocre it was executed, without fail, it easily cut through the rows of stone some other soldiers had rolled to them as a test.

With each strike, she could see more and more, the sheer astonishment on the faces of the Knights and soldiers. She could even see some nobles mixed into the crowd whispering discreetly between each other. Nonetheless, these matters didn't concern her as much as the mop of silky and perfect shoulder length hair that had entered her vision.

She didn't even think twice about what she was going to do. She pulled off her solleret, her shoe piece, and threw it with all her might at the head of silky hair.

Although the feeling of mud between her toes was uncomfortable, she could deal with it for now before washing it off in the river Glein.

A resounding yell of indignation soon followed after her actions before promptly dying as Kay met her gaze.

"Any last words?" She spoke as her sword naturally drew itself in front of her.

"Is the damn horse here?" Kay asked, looking back and forth warily.

"No?" Arturia spoke confused.

"Good," Kay smiled as he turned around and ran. " _Then you'll never catch me_!?"

For a moment, she was utterly speechless, before her anger suddenly erupted like a scorching flame. "Are you not a man!" She yelled giving chase.

How could she just let him off this easily? She knew that she couldn't do anything to Sir Ector, but Kay? That was a whole different story. "Get back here!" _and let me vent!_

However, before she could even continue to give chase, she noticed Emily quietly attending to a flame, a small pot hung over head in which she used to cook. Her sprint shifted to a jog, and then to a walk, before coming to a full stop.

For some reason, watching her cook and serve dishes out to the other Knights gave her a stark feeling of inadequacy. Like she was losing to her in something. Maybe she could try cooking too? Thinking about it, wasn't just as easy as dumping a handful of fat onto the food to make it taste better? She distantly recalled Shirou speaking about how it greatly improved a food's taste.

"What are you thinking about lad?" A hand found its way to rustle Artuira's hair. "Although I believe, it's too late to say this, but you shouldn't have come here and instead should have waited patiently back in the care of Mr. David."

Arturia turned her gaze to stare reproachfully at Sir Ector. "I can't do that," she spoke with determination. "How can I remain safe when everyone else is fighting? You, Kay, Shirou, how could you all have just left me?"

Sir Ector frowned before taking a knee to match Arturia's eye level. "Because there are some things worth protecting," he spoke seriously. "Things you couldn't possibly bear to lose even if it meant giving up your life."

She couldn't understand. If there were things Sir Ector couldn't possibly bear to lose, then wasn't it all the more reason she should be there to help him? Two heads are always better than one, and two people would most certainly always be at an advantage.

"I know you don't understand now," Sir Ector spoke as he patted her shoulders. "But you will understand once you find that person most precious to you."

Arturia nodded as she noticed another man walking up to them.

"I'm sorry if I'm interrupting," the other man nodded his head politely to Sir Ector. "My name is Lord Barwheld. Are you the current leader of this regiment?" He asked directly.

Looking around at Sir Anders and some of the other Knights flaunting their new equipment, he sighed before he took charge. "Yes," he spoke regrettably.

Sir Anders should have been the one to handle the situation as leader of the Knights of Wolfred, but he appeared to bus boasting of his skills. Nonetheless, none were more qualified than him at the moment to take command of the situation. "What is it that you need Lord Barwheld?"

Lord Barwheld seemed to pause as his eyes scanned the open military camp. "Where is the young troop commander? I wish to speak with him about certain matters before the day grows too old."

 _Young troop commander?_ Arturia listened quietly from the side, watching as Sir Ector furrowed his brows.

"Truth be told," Sir Ector began as he let out a sigh. "I haven't seen him since the end of the battle."

Lord Barwheld revealed a troubled expression, before quickly hiding it. "My troops camp is opposite to yours. I would appreciate it if you would let me know when the young troop commander has arrived, or at least notify him of my visit to arrange a better time. The sun is setting and It won't be long now before we can finally begin to counter this Saxon invasion."

His piece done, Arturia watched as Lord Barwheld slowly walked up towards Efret as if he couldn't believe his eyes. Instantly, she noticed how Efret's gaze too became focused.

She couldn't understand what was going, but she was sure the two must have had some sort of history with each other. But the crux of the matter was that Lord Barwheld had brought up an important factor.

Where was Shirou?

She had expected him to be within the camp just as everyone else had, but opposite to her expectations, he wasn't here. "Sir Ector, where do you think Shirou is?" She asked.

"I don't know child. I don't recall ever seeing him during the celebrations." Sir Ector absently scratched at his head. "I was more focused on dissuading some of the newer recruits from giving chase to the enemy and wasting their stamina. However, it that young lad we're talking about. He's probably alright."

Arturia frowned.

"Now I have a question that's been bothering me," Sir Ector spoke. "Why is Kay running so far away?"

Sir Ector put on a troubled look as he stared at Kay's distant back getting smaller and smaller towards the horizon. "Surely, he knows it will be dark soon, and that he shouldn't stray out too far."

 _O, he better be far,_ Arturia smiled pleasantly. "I don't know half of what goes on through his head sometimes," she agreed.

Still, directing her attention away from Kay, she decided that it would be best to look for Shirou. For the same reason, Sir Ector just gave, it wouldn't be safe for Shirou to be alone once night fall came.

Saying a quick goodbye to Sir Ector, she picked up the equivalent of a shoe and placed it on, tired of the dampness beneath her feet. She then promptly left in search of her wayward friend, thankful that he and her family were safe.

The sounds of celebration resounded throughout the camp. It had already been several hours since the end of the battle, and there was still no signs of stopping. It was probably because the odds of winning the battle were already precariously low, only for a miracle to occur and allow them to overtake the situation. Of course, it was a for celebration.

As she ran throughout the camps of all the other Knights and soldiers of other Nobles, she spotted Gerrard sitting alone drinking from a barrel of alcohol. Her nose scrunched up as she neared, prompting her to turn away.

"Hey little runt, wait a bit," Gerrard's voice caused her to pause in her steps.

"Two things," Gerrard spoke as he hiccupped and promptly started laughing.

Already Arturia felt as if she was wasting her time. Looking at the sky, nightfall would soon be coming.

"One," Gerrard spoke as he raised a finger. "Tell little Red he owes me a drink." He took another swig and downed it in one gulp.

Arturia was inwardly debating just leaving lest she somehow get coerced into drinking with this man. In which case, she knew that Gerrard would have to be on the lookout for Sir Ector's ire. Heck, even Kay, the grown-up man that he is, is still enforced by Sir Ector to watch how much he drinks.

"Two," Gerrard raised two fingers up before suddenly becoming solemn. "Tell him I said thank you."

The sudden change in pitch caused her to fall off guard for a moment, but she nodded to his request. She wasn't sure what the man was thanking Shirou about, but she was sure it was something only Shirou could have done.

"Take care runt!" Gerrard spoke as Arturia left.

However, no matter how much she searched within the camp, there no signs of her friend. Suddenly a feeling of trepidation welled from inside her. How many hours had it been since the end of the battle, and still he had yet to appear. Could something have happened? She could clearly picture it. Even in her childhood she could still clearly remember how reckless he was going up against a beast by himself. If something were to have happened, clearly, he would have had recklessly charged in.

After another few minutes of searching amongst the numerous faces within the camp, she was beginning to approach her wit's end.

However,

It was nightfall when her eyes finally spotted a figure in the distance, walking absently near the borders of the camp.

Shirou?

* * *

He wasn't thinking clearly and he knew it. Walking aimlessly in the moonlight he stared at his own hands and wondered just what it was about them that caused him to constantly grab his swords and continue fighting. What was his purpose other than love for being by Arturias side?

It was the true motive behind the series of questions Merlin had asked him after he had gotten the man to stay a tad longer. He who followed an ideal that could never be achieved, and she who represented an ideal beyond any mortal capabilities. The things that had drawn them together, and made their bonds strong, was fundamentally not the same. She was not yet the woman he knew, proud, regal, upstanding, and may very well not even grow into the same person. Yet even still, she was his motivation.

What were his intentions? What did he hope to achieve? Even now when he thought clearly on the subtle undertones of Merlin's questions, he couldn't come up with a clear response. Planning and caution were secondary for someone like him who does all he could to save the others in front of him.

So, where did that leave his goals?

He shook his head ruefully. There was only ever one goal that he could put his all into to get up every morning and train. Whether if it was to better his understanding, tactics, or even to close his heart to end the enemies in front of him, he could get up the next morning knowing he had done it to keep her safe.

" _Shirou_. Where the hell have you been!"

A voice snapped him out of his musings.

Arturia approached, a smile on her face that even he couldn't fully trust despite his utmost faith in her.

So, when the blow to his gut came that sent him doubling over, he didn't even think about dodging. He knew she could do far worse based on the experience of her future self. He ended up having far more than just one extra unnecessary bruise whenever their sparing matches would end.

"Well hello to you too," he bit out a response.

"Hello, hunter, or should I call you a _traitor_?" A gleam appeared in her eyes which made him deftly sure she had been waiting countless days for this moment. "How could you have possibly left without telling me?" She demanded unamused. Her previous frustration of being unable to find him coupling with her anger over his sudden departure.

"Well, obviously, it was t-"

His next words died in his throat as he noticed the injuries over Arturia's arms.

"Just a few cuts and bruises I got on the battlefield," she hurriedly spoke. "It was my fault that I lost my vambraces when Efret fell from the sky."

Some of the wounds that travelled up her arms were still red, others bleeding after any exaggerated movement. Staring at her even now, he could tell that she was doing her best not to wince when her very actions tore a scab.

_But what if you yourself were the one she should be wary of?_

_The best of intentions may not always have the best of consequences._

He clenched his fists. She had come here because of him, Sir Ector, and Kay, of that he had no doubt. Yet wasn't that the same as bringing her to danger? All he had wanted to do was protect her, and now here she was, injured and putting up a front to distract him from the discomfort evident in the minute twitching of her body.

"Shirou?" She called, breaking the silence between them. "Are you alright?"

He didn't answer right away, and instead once again looked at his own hands. The hands that were meant to protect, and hold those precious close were trembling. He didn't want to fail, didn't want to lose her. "It's nothing," he spoke sharply.

She raised a brow in response, but didn't pursue the matter. Instead she spoke of her accomplishments. "Did you see me today? I must have defeated at least ten others."

He nodded. "That's good," he said dismissively, still thinking on the words Merlin had imparted on him.

Arturia frowned, and immediately placed herself in front of Shirou. "Alright, spit it out," she spoke sternly. "I know there's something bothering you. You're acting like Kay ever since he got stuck with the title of the Foul End."

Subconsciously, Shirou's eyes once again drifted to Arturia's wounds.

"This?" She asked, noticing the direction of his gaze. "These are nothing to worry about."

_When you yourself are the one bringing her harm._

"That's not the point," he spoke agitated.

"Then what is?" She challenged.

The words escaped his mouth before he could even stop them. "You shouldn't have come here." The words were silent, like daggers that quietly slinked beneath her armour and pierced her directly. The meaning of those words could not be understood any better.

Her mouth opened and closed, unable to perform a response.

Finally, she just stood there, lips trembling, before she pursed them, turned aside her gaze, and began walking off.

"N-No I, wait-!" He called, grabbing her by the arm.

"Let go of me!" She yelled, scowling. "I'm not someone to be protected!"

She tried to pull her arm away, but he persisted, feeling the calluses of her hands as she used them to eventually pry his own off. How much work did she put into her blade?

How many hours of dedication?

The hands that he felt revealed it all to him.

Effort.

Drive.

Motivation.

And the desperation of wanting to catch up to others.

She stared at him, and he at her, neither speaking a word. Who was he to decide her actions? How could his reasoning be swayed by the words of a stranger he had just met?

Even if what was spoken was correct.

Even if he may very well be the one to put her in danger.

Even so, wasn't he the same?

The words he recalled from back then resurfaced in his mind.

In the simple streets of his hometown where his life was inexplicitly tied to the actions of an idealistic King, what was the difference between her and the boy who would charge head first to fight by the King's side?

Truly, it was now readily apparent.

His hands held her close, the soft warmth of her breath traveling down his neck. "Arturia," he spoke her name softly, unable to voice anything else. The gentle inflection of his voice surprising even him.

She pulled back, pushing him away, the distance between them less than a foot, yet still he did not let her go.

Because that earnesty in her eyes was once mirrored by his own.

A desire unable to be into put to words.

But whose meaning could not possibly be miss-interpreted.

The two stared face to face in the dimness of the moonlight. Poets and bards often spoke of the troubles that brew from deep within, but now more than ever, he understood.

The troubles of right and wrong.

The mysteries of looking through one's own emotions.

In the end, there had always only been one answer, one decision.

_My sword is your sword, and your sword is mine._

His forehead met hers and his lips moved to speak the words he should have spoken since the beginning.

"Will you fight with me?"

_The simplest expression of one's own beliefs._

He felt her shudder, her breath hitching as he spoke the same phrase once more.

_A single message to be conveyed._

_A single heart felt desire suddenly blossoming within the depths of his own virtue._

"Will you fight with me?"

Stronger now, more assured, he swallowed as goosebumps ran down his arms. He held her tighter, the grip he held on her shoulders matching the grip she had on his own. It was never about being protected, nor about how strong one could be. When two people walk on the same path and experience the same sensations, then wouldn't it be best to experience them together? Shoulder to shoulder, with gazes held fervently to the coming of the morning sun, a light will shine and illuminate the way.

" _Together_."

A soft breeze blew past in the tenuous silence.

Slowly, clearly, so as to not have any other meaning, a quiet voice resounded.

" _Yes_."

The simplest expressions often convey the deepest meanings.

He stood there watching her as they broke away from each other.

 _Captivated_ by the innocence of a tender smile.


	16. Chapter 16

It was an odd sort of feeling for Arturia. The kind where at one moment it felt as if an unknown mass of butterflies were in your stomach and in the next an unholy amount giddiness would overtake you. Frankly, she was beginning to be unnerved by it. She was a Squire on her way to Knighthood, and such unknown emotions may hinder her goals, but for the life of her, she just couldn't let them go.

Figuratively speaking, it was as if she had developed something similar to what Kay described about his various misgivings with Llamrei, but on a more positive outlook.

Still, the word that would truly describe what she feeling inside was uncertainty. She didn't know what the future may hold for her, nor did she believe in any way that her decisions in her life were the wrong ones, but, she closed her eyes.

- _For the sake of this simple honest feeling, did it truly matter?_

Growing up, it was always with the purpose of Duty, Honour, and Merit, the words Sir Ector described to be the most ideal personal foundations. It was Duty that bound him to King Uther, Honour to fulfill the man's final wishes, and Merit for his social standing that allowed him to do what most could not.

A free man of virtue, that was what she aspired to be to save her homeland.

She breathed in slowly, the chill of the morning wind pressing against her body despite the tent she was in.

_Did it truly matter?_

She didn't know the answer to that question, nor did she truly believe that she would understand the answer found within the depths of her own consciousness, but for this moment-

"You're awake?" Shirou asked, the weariness fading from his face as he pushed himself up on the opposite side of the tent by a sleeping Kay and Sir Ector.

She let out her breath, its warmth causing a small cloud of vapour to form in the cold morning. She turned to face Shirou, and didn't say a word, her face blushed from the cold.

-Uncertain or not, this feeling inside of her was something that she didn't think was ever going to change. In knowing, or not knowing, all those things would eventually come to her in time, but regardless, she was happy.

By now she had realized that her silence was making Shirou fidget, his hand scratching nervously at the back of his head in a way that conveyed that he didn't know if he had done anything wrong. That familiar action brought a sense of comfort to her as if things would never change.

She began to laugh quietly, watching as the expression on Shirou's face softened before he got up and decided to take a seat next to her.

"Your vagrant Knight has returned," he spoke in jest after a moment of silent contemplation.

Her face began to heat up before she began to glare lightly. " _You_ ," she spoke. She knew that he knew that she was still rather embarrassed about the oath of Knighthood Shirou had made in their childhood. Even more so because it alone was enough to convince her to let Shirou begin work at the smithy's.

Although she feigned ignorance numerous times, she knew that even now she couldn't deny being able to vividly recall it.

Brows furrowing and cheeks reddening even further, she turned her head to the side and stared adamantly out the tent.

"Hey Arturia," Shirou spoke.

She took a glance at him.

"Why did the other two come along with you?" He asked curiously.

She bit the inside of her lips as she began to ponder. She knew why Emily had wanted to come along, but as for the Son of Wolfred, all that she knew was that he had come for recognition. As she conveyed her thoughts to Shirou, he nodded in understanding.

"For the Son of Wolfred, I can understand somewhat about his motivations. The shadow his father had cast over him as the owner of Bristol may be hard to surpass and at time can be stifling. As for Emily," a bewildered look appeared over Shirou's face. "I," he shook his head. "Frankly, I have no idea."

She stared hard at Shirou, but it seemed as if he knew just as much as her. Yet somehow, thinking about Emily made her feel threatened for reasons she had no control over. It wasn't that Emily was a bad person, but all the same, she would rather Emily be far away from the last Ashton.

She nodded her head as she decided to get out of the tent. Still, "Shirou," she spoke remembering a promise she made the previous day. "Gerrard says you owe him a drink, and he also said to tell you Thanks. For what I'm still not sure."

Shirou nodded his head, giving nothing away.

She continued on. "Also, a Baron by the name of Barwheld has a requested a meeting with you," she spoke as she lifted the covers of the tent and stepped outside. Turning around, she waited for Shirou to accompany her as she had gotten used to his presence beside her.

Eyes furrowing in thought, Shirou stood up and gathered his things before meeting her outside.

Off in the distance they could see Efret still lounging with a small mountain of food laid in front of him, the bird would probably become a fat pheasant of sorts if it ever managed to finish everything. Speaking of which, "since when did he get so large?" She asked.

Shirou didn't answer and instead alternated glances between a small seal engraved in his hunting armour and Efret.

She chose not to pursue the matter and instead motioned Shirou indifferently towards the cooking area as if she was not all interested.

Still,

He simply sighed in response as her stomach growled and her cheeks reddened.

_Curses._

* * *

_"_ _Spring had long since passed, and the balance of the seasons had once again shifted. I don't know what the future may hold, or the progress of our mage craft, but everything would be worth it for me and for my husband, if we could simply change the fate of our little boy. Our dear, dear child._

_By now even little Efret had begun to take notice, others too._

_It was no longer a viable option to leave the house._

_Who was the enemy, and who was not?_

_It was getting harder and harder to trust, but at least my Husband still has those he could call friend._

_I worry about him at times, I really do."_

Shirou closed the diary in his hands and sighed. He had sought answers for Efret's sudden change in size, but instead was left with more questions. Who was the boy and what had others begun to take notice of? The writer of the diary was most likely the mother, and the father could be none other than Duke Ashton. Therefore, what did it all mean, and what was did it mean by the blood pacts?

The sigil, the symbol of the magic crests engraved in the gear he was wearing continued to give off a faint glow. Through structural grasping, he could see the small wisps of energy connecting to Efret. Even without further investigation, he could deduce the cause of his sudden growth, but the phenomenon still made no sense to him. This was why he had turned to the diary for answers. Of course, he could have simply asked Efret, but after the years of spending time with it, he quickly realized that it didn't possess enough of a vocabulary to converse with him in more than one sentence. More often, they communicated through simple words or eye contact, but he knew it wouldn't work to explain something as complicated as the crest on his armour.

It was now high-noon, and the heat of the sun was beginning to cause sweat to form over the soldiers managing Baron Barwheld's camp. There was a small encirclement around the perimeter with stretched leathers to act as temporary barriers to let other soldiers from different nobles know not to pass.

He stood in front of that barrier blocked by two guards.

"State your business," the guards spoke.

He had come after hearing from Arturia that this particular Baron was looking for him, but he didn't expect this kind of welcome. Regardless, he told them that he had been called to discuss something with their Baron, yet still they didn't let him through.

"A poor sap like you?" One of them asked. "There's no way you're qualified enough, let alone to have actually been invited," the man spoke while eying his choice of wear: one of Arturia's simple brown tunics that Sir Ector had packed for him on the journey. After all, even if it was himself or the other Knights, they wouldn't stay in their armour all the time.

"He's right lad, ya best get goin before we lose our patience."

He frowned, looking at the other soldiers gathering around him. "Look," he spoke. "Regardless if you think I'm worthy or not to meet your Baron, shouldn't you at least inform him."

"For poor lad like you? What's the," the guard paused as he noticed the incredulous stares of the other soldiers and a few Knights around him.

They were the ones who fought near the Knights of Wolfred and witnessed firsthand, the one who had led them to battle.

"Oi, ya growing cold feet?" The other guard asked his fellow guard. "There's no way that the lad really has an appointment with our esteemed Baron."

"R-Right," the guard spoke. Yet even still he was a bit unnerved by the stares of the formed crowd. "Still, I think his suggestion has some merit. So why don't you go and verify this meeting while I wait here?"

"Fine, but the drinks er on ya later," the other guard who was older and gruff spoke.

"Whatever," the guard dismissed before turning back to him. "Happy?" He asked the crowd rather than him.

The crowd began to murmur to themselves, and moments later a black-eyed guard returned. "L-Let the lad through," he spoke through gritted teeth. "The Baron's waiting for him."

Nodding stiffly, the guards allowed him through with no more problems.

While walking through the camp, he soon arrived at the entrance of the most lavish tent. It was red, and lined with small brown patterns that aligned themselves at the base of the tent. A large wooden pole was erected at the center to act as a support for the main structure. Gingerly he called out before walking into the tent.

A man stood there waiting, his back faced towards him with his hands clasped together behind his stomach. "Sorry for the guards," the man spoke. "They really should have known better."

The man turned to face him, revealing his ruff appearance. "You can call me Baron Barwheld."

He nodded his head thoughtfully. "Was there something you needed," he asked.

Baron Barwheld didn't speak for a moment, simply stared at him as if trying to figure him out. He gave up after a moment and instead motioned for him to take a seat in front of the work desk placed in front of him.

He sat down and waited for Baron Barwheld to speak, watching as the man took out two cups and a battle of wine. "Did you know," Baron Barwheld began. "This was how it all started."

Baron Barhweld motioned towards the entirety of the tent, and even then, he could understand that he truly meant all that had now belonged to him. "At the start, it was between a boy with seemingly no standing and a bleak future, and a man of power who really couldn't give a shit," Baron Barwheld laughed gruffly.

Shirou raised a brow.

"A small toast for a time long since passed," Baron Barhweld said without explaining.

Shirou frowned, but said nothing on the matter. Still, he was curious. Baron Barwheld was acting too familiar despite this only being their first meeting. He decided to get to the point. "Was there something you needed?" He asked again.

"You are an Ashton," Baron Barwheld spoke as if it would explain everything. "Judging from your age, you must have been the Duke's son."

"Emiya, I'm Shirou Emiya," he quickly cut in with a strained expression. Even now he wasn't comfortable with the fact that he had taken the identity of another, yet still, if it allowed him to better help Arturia, he would continue to do so with no problems.

Baron Barwheld's eyes widened before a knowing look appeared in his eyes. "I see, so those bastards are still out there after all," he muttered to himself. Those who had gone through any lengths to see the Ashton's removed from history.

Shirou watched as Baron Barwheld took out a bag strapped around his waist and began fishing around within it. He stared speculatively at the smell gem produced. It was blue in colour, and the edges were all refined and smoothed out.

Baron Barwheld placed it on the table in front of him. "I don't know what the purpose of this gem is, but the final instructions that I was given on that day couldn't be any clearer to me now."

Shirou didn't know how to reply, and thus said nothing at all.

 _Just like the old Duke,_ Baron Barwheld thought. Quiet till the end, with a gaze that didn't discriminate between poor and rich. It reminded him that some things just didn't change. For him, for Efret, and all the time lost in between, it didn't matter. For in this moment he would due his duty and honour the words in which he spoke on that final dreary and blood soaked evening. He steeled his expression before once again pulling something else out of his bag. A small sigil crafted in wood, the symbol of his status. He placed on the table for the boy to take. It would allow him entry into the town in which he governed, and the other aristocracy in the area would think twice before moving against the last son of the Ashtons.

"These are?" Shirou asked.

"This one," Baron Barwheld held out the sigil. "Is a gift, the other is something far more important."

Placing the small carved sigil in front of Shirou, the Baron grabbed the blue gem and tossed it lightly towards him. "It's supposed to be an inheritance right," he spoke solemnly as he remembered the very same stone in possession of Duke Ashton. " _Blood begets blood. The pact will never fade till the very last traces of the bloodline ceases,"_ Baron Barwheld recited the words spoken to him by the late Duke Ashton.

Shirou's eyes widened as the gem landed in his hands and immediately a sinking feeling took root through his very soul, an explosion of power traveling across the land. His face began to pale, his magic circuits all forcibly coming to life, and suddenly he wasn't there anymore sitting across from Baron Barwheld.

He was in a dark cave with large spires of stalagmites and stalactites growing from the roof and ground. Somehow, the entire space seed oddly familiar in the depths of his mind. It was dark, but even then, he could still see everything clearly, including the pair of crimson eyes that stared at him from within the darkest shadow of the cave.

" **You** ," a voice spoke slowly. " **It has been a long time since last you were here** ," the crimson eyes blinked before growing sharper. " **Time has passed, the grandeur of this space has already been lost. All that remains are those who could not move on. Those like me**."

"You talk as if I know you," Shirou spoke as he assessed his condition. His magic circuits were still shot, making it impossible to defend himself if whatever this thing in front of him were to attack.

If there was one thing that was obvious however, it was that he utterly unprepared for this sort of situation, something he hadn't experienced since the start of the Holy Grail War.

" **You do not remember?** "

There was a moment of deep silence as Shirou simply nodded his head.

A cold wind blew as the voice began to laugh in self depreciation. " **All these years of waiting, all these years of loyalty, and this is the result?"**

A figure began to move in the shadows, black furred and the rest of its features indistinguishable in the darkness except for its crimson eyes. " **I could tolerate many things after my creation, but this, this I** ** _cannot._** "

It was like a mountain had moved, the very world around Shirou shook. The rock spires fell and crumbled, the anger present in the air palpable in the following moments. And once the world stopped shaking, all that remained in front of him were a giant pair of narrowed crimson eyes that froze him where he stood.

There was a silence, the soft patter of droplets echoing throughout the room.

Moments later a large claw tapped gently on his forehead.

" **I'm sorry. Even if you cannot remember, this still must be done.** " the voice was quiet, solemn even. " **The blood of the Beasts call. He who shares in this pact of blood,** ** _Awa-_** "

The crimson eyes suddenly widened, before a fury like none other rose from the depths of its being. " **Who dares!** " Everything, _everything_ had been erased as if it were simply eaten away.

A sudden force pressed down on Shirou's shoulders, and suddenly, he was gone.

* * *

It was like transitioning from a dream like state into reality. A murky sort of feeling as if you were awake, but were not really. In that state, Shirou shot up from the chair he was sitting on, startling Baron Barwheld who looked at him perplexed.

 _What, what just happened?_ Shirou placed a palm to rest over his face as he recovered his bearings. Even now he could still feel the pain coursing through his body. Reflexively, he stared down speculatively towards the gem in his hand.

"Are you alright?" Baron Barwheld asked concerned. He had been watching since the start; ever since the moment the gem landed in Shirou's hands and a glazed look appeared over his eyes, to the moment Shirou had sprung up from his chair.

Noticing Baron Barwheld's concern, Shirou breathed deeply before deciding that it was time to leave. "Thank you for your hospitality Baron Barwheld and the gifts you have given to me but," he spoke quickly. "There's something that needs my attention."

Excusing himself, Shirou quickly left the room, leaving Baron Barhweld behind.

Sighing, Baron Barwheld went back to planning the next course of action for the army. With this most recent victory, they now had an opportunity to mount an offensive. Perhaps even a siege battle at the walls of Wessex itself was plausible. It would be another long march, but he was sure some of the other local towns could provide some sieging weapons on the way as well.

He began to laugh as excitement began to well up from inside of him. He had not experienced such a feeling since Duke Ashton had died, and now, after all these years, everything had started to move once more because of the man's blood relative.

The fires of his youth once again took residence within his eyes. Back then, nothing was impossible if Duke Ashton was there, and now, based on what they'd seen previously, could the same not be said for his blood?

He cleared the table in front of him and filled a glass up with wine, downing the drink in one go. Even if he was drinking by himself, he truly didn't mind. These days he only drank to reminisce, for despite appearances, he had already given up on the Saxon invasion. They were too much in number, and would eventually over turn whatever resistance he and the other resident nobles were able to put up.

He knew it was wrong, and if Duke Ashton was still alive, he _knew_ he would be subject to more lectures. It was because if one gave up, even that sliver of a chance to succeed would instantly slip away. It was a life motto, and something even he had experienced. His father had labeled him as a bastard son in favour of his younger brother. If he had given up then, where would he be now? Dead perhaps? or maybe no better than a road-side beggar?

Sighing, he took another drink, this time a bit slower.

Back then, nothing seemed as if it would work. They were being invaded from everywhere, sometimes from the East coast, sometimes from the West. With the receding of the military presence of the Roman empire, Britain had become a battle ground for new inhabitants who found opportunity in Britain's weakness. Not only were they large in number, but the way they fought and pillaged dealt a large blow to the locals. Things only became worse after the warlord Vortigern, a self-proclaimed King of the Britons hired the warrior brothers Hengist and Horsa to assist in repelling the invasion force. They had turn-coated and made the situation even worse in the following years, leaving a path filled with countless dead Britons.

It had always been just a simple matter of time until defeat, and the Britons wiped out, but now?

He filled up another glass of wine, and similarly downed it again in one go, savoring the burning feeling spreading throughout his body. It was something that made him feel alive, and now even more so.

He drank today, not to wallow in his own self-pity, but to toast to the coming of a changing tide and the emergence of old friends.

His face began to heat up as the familiar rush of alcohol finally set in. It was a state he had gotten used to in the previous years as regardless of all the bad news delivered in the reports, the impact was always dampened if only slightly. But now, now he was thrilled!

Finishing his drinking, he called for an aide, and immediately issued a message to the other nobles to hold a strategy meeting.

Soon he had gathered them all in the previous tent full of maps and markers to represent their garrisons of troops and cavalry.

He walked in sober, a slight flush on his face. "Gentlemen, Lord Frederick," he spoke with a nod. "The time has finally come to mount an attack!"

The atmosphere in the room could only be described with one word: invigorating. Not only had they defeated the opposing army, but their losses were at absolute minimum, meaning that they still had the numbers required to force an attack.

"It's time to teach those bastards a lesson after all these years!" Military commander Carnick spoke with vigor. "And this is our opportunity!" He slammed his hand on the map on the table. "The enemy has retreated, their numbers reduced to almost nothing in comparison to ours." His hand traced an arrow across the map. "This is their most probable line of retreat. No other Saxon garrisons are present in this area, leaving them little choice but to high tail it back to their fledgling kingdom of Wessex. Therefore, a _siege_ is possible."

"I concur," Baron Ferdenand spoke. "Most of the combatants today were provided from Wessex, leaving many of the cities and towns that comprise it weak at the moment. Even if they had a substantial defense, what can they do against our military advantage!" He pointed at the Son of Wolfred, the current substitute for his father, and motioned for him to draw his sword.

The clang of steel resounded out as a simple sword came into display. Moments after, it bore a hole through solid rock.

"You see that! That's what these bastards are facing this time!" Carnick spoke with glee. As a military commander, how could he not get excited with the possibilities opened up with such superior weapons. Not only that, but he had seen it first hand in the previous battle. At first, he was skeptical about what a mere two-hundred troop division could accomplish against an army five times their size, but even now the image was left etched within his mind. Shields were useless, armour was useless, and even swords were rendered null in the face of such profoundly sharp blades. "L-Lord Frederick," he stuttered. "Y-You must tell us where Baron Wolfred acquired such equipment."

Put on the spot, Lord Frederick put on a simple smile. " _The Iron Forge_ ," he spoke. "A smithy's present somewhere within Bristol that produces simple knives that can even cut through stone."

"I see," Carnick spoke with less enthusiasm as he set a reminder for himself to place an order to this particular smithy. However, there was still another question bothering him. "Does anyone know where that Holy Bird came from?" He asked. With its help, surely, they could accomplish a lot in any battle.

"That," Baron Barwheld began. "Was Duke Ashton's partner."

Many of the older nobles nodded their heads, but they didn't particularly remember the bird being so large.

However, Baron Barwheld's statement alone proved a single thing.

"Then he's an Ashton?" Lord Ferdenand spoke for clarification.

The Son of Wolfred raised a brow as he was sure they were currently talking about the boy he threatened to apprehend in his childhood. A sinking feeling began to take root inside him.

"Indeed, of that there's no doubt," Baron Barwheld spoke. "Not only did he display his skills on the battlefield, but the Duke's bird follows him as its master. Knowing that bird, it would never follow someone not of Ashton blood."

The Son of Wolfred felt as if he was going to faint as he realized the sudden implications. Had he already made an enemy of a noble of even higher standing than his father? Forget about stepping out of his father's shadow, he first had to come up with a way to make amends. He wasn't a fool. He knew the only reason his father governed Bristol was because of the Ashton assassination, and therefore, if a male Ashton lived? He already knew the implications.

If anything, with Baron Barwheld's declaration, the excitement in the room only increased further, this time from the older generation remembering Duke Ashton's numerous exploits.

"And so?" Lord Ferdenand asked. "Will he fight with us?"

Baron Barwhled placed a hand beneath his chin as he thought. Based on what he had glimpsed of Shirou's character back in his camp, he could be sure that he would help. There were no traces of fear in his eyes, nor was there any indication of hesitance. "Yes. He probably will," he spoke.

With that single statement alone, there was no more use in planning anything. There was only a single possibility now running through every single noble's minds aside from the Son of Wolfred.

_Lay Siege on Wessex._


	17. Chapter 17

It was almost like Shirou was sitting back at his little Dojo in the Emiya residence, a cup of tea in his hands as he watched Saber go through her forms. Yet the current circumstances were a tad different.

He hummed in thought as he took a sip from the broth of soup he was currently preparing while his eyes snuck glances at Arturia sparring against Kay. Sir Ector was also not far from the area, rather he was the one instructing both of the two.

"Here are the bowls," Emily spoke in surprise before she leaned down and whispered. "Why are there so many of them?"

He knew that she was referring to the encirclement of trained men gathering around him and eying the food he was cooking.

"Is it really that good?" Emily asked.

He shrugged. It didn't matter if it was good or not. All that he knew was that regardless of how many people were waiting for him to finish cooking, they would have to get through a strong line of defense first.

Even with the others training in the distance, none of them could conceal the possessiveness in their eyes.

Sir Ector would often glance in his direction, a thumb brushing against the hilt of his sword as he hummed in thought, daring anyone to make a move.

Even Kay and Arturia were affected. Although it looked as if they were engaged in a fierce bout of steel against steel, it was simply not the case. The strength of their blows was weakening with every strike as they decided to conserve their strength to fend off the pests.

He alone was the only one with no preparations of any kind, but rather he silently mused to himself why it was the army troop could be so lax. Then again, from Sir Ectors previous explanation, he could definitely understand why.

The higher ups and leaders of the army had decided that this was the best time to launch the initiative and retaliate back against the Saxons. Yet Wessex, an area formed of a coalition of numerous other villages would not fall so easily even with the power of their current military strength. They simply did not have enough personnel to spread throughout the lands of Wessex.

Therefore, time was needed to garner more individuals.

Still, a period of at least three-to-four years may be the most optimum to gather men from across the country into one army, but that would also give enough time for the enemy to bolster their own defenses. Thus, the most optimum time was decided to be a reconvention of the powers after two years-time, keeping heed to hide the information from the enemy, yet fighting short skirmishes to keep up the pressure.

With that said, the lack of tension in the current expressions of the men around him was probably due to this very explanation.

His eyes made contact with Arturia's in the exact way she had instructed just before he stared cooking. It was the signal to let her know that the food was just about done.

She in turn sent a signal to Kay, and both of them promptly stopped training and returned to where he was cooking, forming another circle.

Arturia sent him out a glance at the other soldiers around them, giving them fair warning. Of course, no one really took her that seriously based on her age, but it was the imposing aura behind her that caused many to reconsider their actions.

Besides, most of the men around them were from separate camps. The fact that they were here drawn by the smell just meant that all of them were tired of stale rations. Then again, his level of cooking was far beyond the level of what was considered true cuisine in the present era, even if it only consisted of hunted and seasoned game.

As for the Knights of Wolfred, many had started their journey back to the lands of Bristol, bringing with them the equipment he had reinforced and altered. Many of them of them even going as far as to avoid other troops and various other groups in caution of thieves. The armour and weapons reinforced by him were just that rare in this time period of man and sword. A weapon easily able to bypass all primitive medieval defenses was not something to be looked down upon.

As for their current group, it consisted of two men from the Knights of Wolfred, Palamid and Bors, and including himself there was Arturia, Emily, Kay, Gerrard, Charles, the Son of Wolfred, and Sir Ector.

The group was formed shortly after Sir Ector took note of the area and the location of the closest settlements. It was then that he realized that a particular settlement of great interest was nearby.

The Town of Roan.

When Sir Ector brought up the topic with the others, no one made any complaints. In fact, the only thing worth noting was that the Son of Wolfred refused to return with the other Knights back to Bristol, stating that he was on a quest to make a name for himself. Which was precisely why Palamid and Bors had stayed behind to watch after the young noble after a moment of discussion.

It was an odd sort of group, and they hadn't even left the main army camp yet because of a few matters that needed to be settled on Sir Ector's end. As for why Gerrard was present, it was because of Charles who had been singled out by the rest of the nobility to keep an eye on him. He was the only Noble yet to take control of his own land, and as such his duties weren't as significant when compared to the rest of the others like Barwheld.

Speaking of the man, he had already left with his troop as well in preparation for the coming assault. Although he did leave behind a few words with him before departing mainly to do with matters regarding to a visit sometime in the future.

"Shirou, hurry up with the food," Arturia urged, a tad threatened by the ravenous stares directed at the food's direction.

"It's already done," he spoke.

The moment his words were uttered, a strange silence encompassed the area as many of the men who were already turning to leave straightened up and halted steps.

"Gentlemen," Sir Ector coughed into his hand and stepped forward. "I believe that you've misplaced the locations of your own camps."

The majority completely ignored Sir Ectors words. After all, they had never smelled food so fragrant. In fact, if it was simply hunted and roasted game, the smell alone should have been one that was familiar. However, this, this was different. It was a salivating kind of smell, the kind where one could envision the taste through a mere whiff of the scent.

It wasn't until Kay stepped up that any change occurred in the expressions of the men for he was famous now in his own way.

The Foul End.

All the other men knew of the rumours regarding Kay, and were likewise repulsed. Furthermore, Gerrard was also present, and with his reputation and his accomplishments in the battlefield, the men eventually gave up.

"I didn't know you were a cook, Red?" Gerrard said as he slumped down and took the bowl and skewer offered to him by Emily who was helping Shirou distribute the portions.

Gerrard took a bite at the food just as he was about to continue talking, but suddenly decided against it as he hastened his chewing.

"Hhmph, what kind of food is this?" The Son of Wolfred looked at the offered food and was comparing it to what was served in his manor. Admittedly, he was actually quite bewildered, but he wasn't showing it. "This is soup?"

The Son of Wolfred muttered to himself before taking a sip. His eyes widened. "S-Say, you wouldn't be interested in a position at my residence, would you?"

"No way," Arturia was the one who answered the question.

She could tell what it was that the Son of Wolfred was thinking, and she'd be damned if she'd let him go through with it. His personality aside, she could at least tolerate him, but she still had her bottom line. No one threatens to take away her chef.

The Son of Wolfred's constitution soured, his face looking as if someone had taken away something precious.

"You, don't to be too impulsive," Bors reasoned as he ate slowly. "How about a position in the Knight's area?"

Bors was built tough, his body muscular, and the armour he wore seeming as if it didn't weigh him down at all. His brown hair was rather short, and a stubble of a beard was beginning to form over his rounded chin. Other than a few other things like a square face, Bors had a pair of brown eyes that seemed to always be deep in thought.

" _NO,_ " Arturia spoke again, her eyes leveled on her opposition. She even included Palamid who had yet to speak in her sights.

Speaking of which, Palamid was once again wearing his helmet to hide his features, although it couldn't hide his annoyance at the Son of Wolfred who kept sneaking glances at him. Currently, Palamid was more preoccupied with the stare Arturia was giving him. "If you insist that I speak up, then I will speak up." Palamid took a bite from her food before continuing. "I second Bors's proposal."

Arturia's lips thinned, yet her attention was suddenly drawn towards Charles who was sneaking second servings in her distraction. Her eyes narrowed.

"Relax a bit," Shirou spoke to lighten up the competitive atmosphere, handing another serving to a thankful Charles. "There's enough for everyone," he finished.

Then what about thirds?

Was the general thought that crossed everyone's minds.

Eyes locking, a fierce battle of wills commenced before everyone started eating rapidly to consume as much as possible.

It was only moments later after all the food had been cleared up that the main topic of discussion was put to question.

"Why are we going to the Town of Roan?" The Son of Wolfred was the one who asked, but everyone was actually thinking on it.

Sir Ector hummed before he spoke. "Roan is not known for its land, people, nor achievements, but rather there is something far more interesting about it."

Palamid and Bors listened silently as Shirou seemed to already know what was about to be said.

"And that would be?" Emily asked as she brought up from the rear.

"The Sword in the Stone, lass," Sir Ector answered.

Upon hearing Sir Ector's words, Arturia's footsteps paused briefly, the action too quick to be caught.

She didn't understand why it was they were visiting the Sword in the Stone now even though she had yet to complete her training. She held herself back from asking due to the company of the others around her. She would have to wait for a better time to bring it up with Sir Ector.

"The Sword in the Stone, that immovable thing?" Gerrard scoffed. "Nothing's been able to so much as shake that thing."

"He who draws forth the sword in the stone is the true King of Britain," Charles recited the words spoken in the inner circle of the nobility.

The Son of Woflred's eyes shone. "Naturally it will be I, who shall draw this sword."

Kay scoffed at the notion and instead decided to set a pace for the others to follow otherwise it would take too long to arrive at the settlement.

As the group continued along, Sir Ector began to slowly drift back within the group until he paced himself alongside Shirou.

"You've spoken with the Wizard, child?" Sir Ector asked, catching Shirou by surprise.

Shirou adjusted the bag he was carrying behind him before answering. "Yes, I have," he admitted.

To be frank, Sir Ector bringing up the topic of Merlin reminded him of the previous happenings regarding Barwheld and the object Barwheld had given to him. Even now he hadn't given it much thought, finding it hard to get any time by himself to investigate. He would wait until he returned to the Ashton manor.

Sir Ector nodded his head as a large shadow flew overhead.

Efret was too large to follow the group without causing problems with other travellers, thus he had taken to gliding within the air, yet "that's going to be a problem," Sir Ector muttered.

Because of Efret's sheer size, just approaching the town would signal alarm bells to start ringing even if Efret remained in the air. Therefore it was a fortunate that Baron Barwheld had asked to borrow Efret for a time to aid in the skirmishes for a greater impact against the enemy.

When he had asked the bird, Efret surprisingly had no arguments. But for now, Efret was still adamant on following him to at least Roan.

Efret's matters aside, Shirou was more interested in what Sir Ector had to say.

"The Wizard?" Shirou prompted.

"Ah yes," Sir Ector removed his gaze from Efret. "To be frank, the reason we're going to Roan is on the Wizard's instructions."

"He spoke to you?" Shirou asked.

"Through a letter, yet I was quite surprised when your name was mentioned in it."

Sir Ector looked down upon Shirou with a concealed curiosity. Merlin wasn't one to easily leave an impression on, and the fact that Shirou had managed to even though he wasn't a woman, was quite noteworthy. The question bothering him, however, was just when did Shirou had the opportunity to converse with the famed wizard. After all, although Merlin was famous, it was equally as hard to locate him as he often travelled around for various matters.

"What's the real reason were going to Roan?" Shirou asked.

Based on the memories he shared with Saber in the Holy Grail war, Arturia was still not at the proper age in which she drew Caliburn from the stone. As such, he couldn't help but wonder if he had changed history too drastically. Still, he wouldn't care as long as the ending of the story of King Arthur was altered for the better. A King that remained alive to justly rule his people, even better if it was a Queen.

Sir Ector furrowed his brows, black lines creasing his forehead and enhancing his aged features. There were somethings he just wasn't sure that Shirou should know such as Arturia and her destiny with the Sword in the Stone. However, it was Shirou, the child who had proven herself Arturia's ally time and time again. Firstly, during the incident with the Beast where he took a debilitating blow for the young blond, and the second time when he forsook his own safety to go the battle field on her behalf. He smiled wryly, although the second instance was rendered null, it was the action itself that counted.

He came to a decision.

"If you had to choose between your own future, and that of the Kingdom's, what would you choose?" Sir Ector asked.

This was the final question. The test necessary to decide on Sir Ector's course of action.

To trust or not to trust.

Shirou pondered silently to himself before coming to his own answer. "I would choose my own future," he spoke.

Sir Ector's constitution seemed to dim with the answer given, but before he could speak up, Shirou elaborated.

"I'm a very straight forward person," Shirou scratched his head sheepishly as he spoke. "You see, even if I chose to use my life for the Kingdom, I wouldn't do it because there are people I want to protect more."

A light seemed to shine in Sir Ector's eyes. "Go on," he prompted.

Shirou stayed silent for a moment, the only sound being heard between the two men, the steady thumping of their own foot steps.

"A Kingdom can rise and fall at any moment, and I could care less for such things, but the people in it are a whole different matter entirely. If I were to forsake my life for the Kingdom, who would be there for those that I've left behind? I'm selfish I suppose in wanting to pursue my own future, but at least in doing so I would have attained the ability to continue protecting those I care about."

The sound of his voice was steady without even a single moment of hesitation. It was if he was stating out a solid fact.

Sir Ector closed his eyes briefly before opening them. "And what of the things they care about as well?" he asked.

After all, the people Shirou would protect would have their own things they'd wish to protect.

"Naturally, I would protect them too," Shirou spoke.

"Good good," Sir Ector laughed. "Good answer."

Sir Ector's laugh caused many in the group to turn around and look at the two, but their gazes were soon back on the path to Roan after a long moment of awkward silence.

"The reason we're going to Roan right now is quite simple from a certain perspective," Sir Ector whispered. "The Wizard is there. He mentioned in the letter that it was about time that he began training the little runt. Besides, we have the better most part of two years to finish off her training before we have to convene with the army. At that time, I know that even if we tried to leave her again the lass would instantly come running, and by then I'm not even sure if my swordsmanship would be able to survive past her ire."

"Then you plan to meet up with the Wizard?" Shirou asked.

Sir Ector frowned. "Knowing that Wizard, it's him that will find us, but I suppose if we do have to go looking we must not pass up even the most common of some ladies' gatherings."

Shirou smiled wryly. Knowing that particular wizard, there was truth in Sir Ector's statement. Regardless, as morning soon fell into night, and night back into morning, the group soon arrived near the gates of Roan.

Roan was different from Bristol as it was not located at some point near the coast, but rather it was an in-land settlement. Large and thick walls covered the majority of Roan's perimeter, with sturdy gates built at the entrances and exits. Tall watch posts were erected near every corner of the fortification with a group of two or more men constantly on the patrol.

As a settlement, it was very common in design. Rows of wood-made houses with bases of brick and cobblestone. Elsewhere there was a central market area where the general populace would go about their days. The smithies were closer to the farther ends of the town located near the military outposts to keep a constant supply of armour and weapons.

Naturally, Roan wasn't known for much other than being a settlement with a strong foundation, but it was more widely known as the town Merlin had decided to place the Sword in the Stone as mentioned by Sir Ector.

Walking through the gates after a brief inspection by the guards, Sir Ector took a moment to gather everyone up.

"Alright you lot," Sir Ector began in lecture. "There's only a couple things I need to say before we find ourselves some lodging."

The group nodded, falling silent to hear Sir Ector's voice better.

"Firstly, this isn't Bristol. The control of this town doesn't belong to the hands of an earnest man like Wolfred, but rather a cunning snake. I'm sure Charles here should have heard from the other nobility about a jousting match to determine the true King of Britain?"

"Indeed," Charles spoke, straightening his clothes.

"Fact of the matter is, that the notion of a joust to determine the next King was proposed by the Noble of this area of duchy, Duke Vernier."

Arturia listened intently, while Shirou decided to take this information to heart. After all, in the memories he shared with Saber, Arturia was not privy to this information when she was at this age, therefore, neither was he.

"But how does that make him cunning?" Bors asked honestly. "Didn't he only send out a proposition?"

"That's not the true point of the matter." Sir Ector shook his head before speaking again. "Take into consideration that this old Duke's kin could not draw forth the Sword in the Stone, and then take into consideration what this family excels at."

Bors eyes widened in understanding. "The Vernier Riding Company, proficient in mounted combat."

Sir Ector smiled. "Your quite well versed in the knowledge of nobility," he said.

Bors remained silent, and Sir Ector did not pursue the topic.

"Back onto previous matters. The fact that Duke Vernier proposed a joust is entirely in the favour of the Vernier family. To make matters worse, many pig-headed nobles and their self-assured pride favoured the proposition as a chance to prove themselves superior to the Vernier family."

Kay nodded as he understood the underlying message. "This Vernier family is using the egos of the other nobility to fuel their own ambitions," he stated.

"Precisely, and that's why the proposal has already been accepted. It's only a matter of time before the jousts are officially announced." Sir Ector sighed. "What's worse is that the smarter nobles, the ones who wagered risk and gain on a scale, have chosen the Vernier side to stand on. Favours from the next 'King of Britain' are not to be taken lightly."

Sir Ector paused and gave a moment for his words to sink in before moving on to the second warning.

"Secondly," he spoke. "Because of the Vernier family and the Nobles backing them, none of you are to instigate any troubles while we are here in Roan. It wouldn't be in our best interests to draw unwanted attention on ourselves that may even get us killed."

Arturia understood the words hidden in the message. For her, she couldn't draw attention to herself as the daughter of Uther destined to take up the duties of the throne. Not many people knew of her identity, but investigation could unveil a lot of things, especially if the Witch and her allies in the Noble court were to get word of her. This was probably the main reason why Sir Ector was being so cautious. He wasn't worried about the Nobles and their machinations, but the Witch lurking in the shadows.

"Do you all understand?" Sir Ector asked, his eyes primarily set upon the Son of Wolfred who was known to get his father into various troubles.

If anything, the one he trusted get into the least amount of trouble was Shirou. Even for his age, he had a smart head on his shoulders, and he'd never seen him act too rashly.

Noticing the attention Sir Ector was giving him, the Son of Wolfred visibly deflated, a twitch forming on his eye. "I know how to act in regards to other nobles. Father made sure of that already," he spoke.

"Good, then I trust all of you will remember my words?"

The group nodded, and Sir Ector then decided that it was time to find a lodging.

Emily who had been silent for the longest time became the handiest at that moment. She didn't understand the importance of higher politics and the various workings of the nobility, but she excelled at the small things.

Finding a nice lodging was not difficult for her to do as she had often travelled with her father when he went out of town.

The place they decided to stay was an inn with a small tavern near the entrance. Naturally, Gerrard, and the older people of the group sent their praise to Emily for finding a place to reside in with a place to drink alcohol on the side.

She scratched her head before lowering it down timidly, not used to all the attention from people of such higher standing. Yet from what her mom had once told her on her mother's side, her mother came from a very secretive branch of nobility that she had ran away from. Therefore, she thought to herself if this was the kind of attention she would have had should her mother not have run away. She shook her head. If her mother didn't run away, then how could she have ever met her father?

"Well, let's place our belongings into our rooms, then we can decide what to do from there," Sir Ector said as he opened the door to their room.

Placing their stuff down, soon Gerrard and Charles left to go about their own business. As Charles had only come with the group to keep an eye on the Ashton descent, and Gerrard only came because of a promise, both of them were free to do what they wanted at the moment. For Charles, since Shirou was staying in the lodgings, there was no use staying near him.

Next to leave the room were Kay and Bors who had decided to go to Roan's military training zones. Both of them wished to see how well the training of the Knights of Bristol compared to the training of the Knights of Roan. Besides, even if one was better than the other, the whole point was to find enlightenment to further their own way of the sword.

Left with only the company of people roughly a third of his age, Sir Ector soon decided to leave the youths to their own idle banter, and decided it was high time he started looking for leads to a certain wizard.

Left in the room were Shirou, Arturia, Emily, Palamid, and the Son of Wolfred.

The sun pooled in from an open window as Palmid decided to speak up. "There's nothing to be gained here by sitting all day," he said.

"Then what ideas do you have?" The Son of Wolfred shot back.

Normally he would already be out roaming the streets, but with Sir Ector's warning and the lessons from his father, he was hesitant to do so. After all, trouble always seemed to find him.

Palamid crossed his arms and began to think.

"What about that?" Emily pointed to a sign across from the lodging visible from the open window.

From a young age, her mother had been the one to teach her how to read, and for the most part she knew the basics, which was uncommon for a girl of her standing.

"A young blade's competition?" Shirou read out with his enhanced sight.

Palamid nodded. "Sounds interesting does it not?"

"I concur," Arturia nodded her head from her position sitting cross-legged.

Competition always breeds excellence after all. In fact, the rush of battle was always beneficial to aspiring swordsmen.

"Then you all want to participate?" Shirou said with a frown. If even Arturia was agreeing, then he'd be hard pressed himself to refute her.

"Of course," the Son of Wolfred spoke. "This is the perfect chance to make a name for myself."

"Fool, you already have a name," Palamid interjected. "You just refuse to be referred by it until you deem yourself worthy of it." _Stuck up in the shadow of your father._

The Son of Wolfred didn't answer, and instead asked his own question. "Well, are we going or not?"

Seeing a round of nods, Shirou could only sigh as he took the lead to make sure that the group wouldn't run into any trouble. Arturia and Emily soon ran by to his side and engaged in idle banter, leaving behind Palamid and the Son of Wolfred who walked in silence.

Palamid gave a pat on the Son of Wolfred's back. "Even if you are a good for nothing, you're still a friend and the son of the Baron. There's nothing for you to fear regardless of the result. After all, you're not actually a bad man."

The Son of Wolfred's eyes glanced at Shirou's back, hesitation showing themselves in his features. He wanted to apologize for what he had done in the past, now knowing the heritage and reputation Shirou carried on his shoulders. Truth be told, it was the main reason he had chosen to follow the group led by Sir Ector because he really didn't have to follow them to make a name for himself.

The reason had more to do with his own personal gains, but that aspect had nothing to do with the sincerity he had in wanting to apologize. Someone like Shirou, like himself, was bound for greater things in the future as an heir of nobility. Friends were always hard to come by and he hoped that he could make a new one. Even if their beginnings were questionable.

It didn't take long to arrive at the location of the competition. Various groups of Roan's youths came to participate and were crowding around a simple platform designed like an arena. A small perimeter of fabric was spread around hoisted on wooden stakes pinned to the ground.

The competition wasn't that big of a deal and was more focused on breeding healthy competition between future men to further their own growth, the prize being a one-on-one lesson with a distinguished Knight of Roan. Still, to most hot-blooded youths in Roan, the opportunity was not one to be passed up. Especially in Noble houses who wished to show their superiority when compared to the rest.

As such, there was a youth standing at the front of the competition's entrance hosting an entrance requirement for the tournament.

Prospective competitors would have to use their swords to split a large block of wood with one stroke. Instantly, most nobility could understand the purpose of such a thing. After all, the quality of a sword normally reflected one's status.

Evident by the current circumstance.

"With a sword like that?" A noble looking youth spoke to a poor swordsman.

The swordsman was near twenty and wore nothing but long rags around his waist, his torso bare. Yet even after the youth guarding the entrance had rebuked him, not an ounce of concern was evident on his face. Rather, his hands still held onto the handle of his sword.

The rusted sword the swordsman had used to cut into the wooden block provided was barely even able to cut into the surface before chipping.

"This is a real sword, sharper than one of your kind could ever dream of possessing," the youth sneered before drawing forth his own sword and pushing away the swordsman.

With a mighty swing, and a heave of effort, the youth's sword cut apart the block of wood.

"See that? Only by possessing a perfect sword like mine could you ever by qualified to take part in this competition. Now scram."

Arturia had a displeased look on her face as she watched the proceedings.

How unsightly.

Still, even before she could voice her opinion on the matter, someone beat her too it.

"Then is your sword as perfect as this?" The Son of Wolfred suddenly drew out a sword and gently placed it down on another block of wood on its blade edge.

The observing crowd gasped as the sword cut apart the wooden block without any strain on the Son of Wolfred's hands.

The youth was speechless watching such a scene, and could only dumbly stare back.

"I like it," a voice called.

The Son of Wolfred quickly sheathed the reinforced sword Palamid had given him in the previous war, slightly regretting showing it off to beat someone else's arrogant boasts. Yet his actions were not refuted by anyone in the group, rather, Palamid gave him a nod of approval.

A man must be able to prove his own mettle, and back up his words.

Hushed whispers travelled throughout the crowd before someone stepped through.

It was a young man with long brown disheveled-hair cropped up into a pony tail that stretched past his shoulder blades. He wore a blue colouredtight waistcoat fastened by tags, and a pair of close-fitting breeches that travelled down to shoes with long metal points. His sleeves were cut, and there were pads on his shoulders making his upper body appear wider.

An entourage of similarly dressed youths were beside him, staring indifferently at the gathered competition.

"I am the youngest son of Vernier, Petris Vernier," the young man introduced himself before eyeing the sword the Son of Wolfred had sheathed. "Name your price," he spoke.

Shirou frowned, remembering the words Sir Ector had said: Do not cause trouble in Roan, especially with the Vernier family. Yet how could he possibly allow one of his swords to fall into the hands of someone he did not know?

"That sword is not something one like you could possibly afford," the poor swordsman spoke indifferently, his eyes the only one to catch how the tip of the sword had cut into the rock beneath the block of wood.

A sword that could cut through rock without effort?

Priceless.

"Who do you think you are? You're not the son of a Duke, nor the son of a Baron, what gives you the right to even speak to me?" Petris spoke as he motioned with his eyes to one of his companions.

The swordsman once again didn't speak back, but was caught by surprise as one of Petris's followers struck out with a sword.

Clang!

Metal cut through metal as the Son of Wolfred, to the surprise of those in his group, cut the offending sword in two.

"I am a noble too, and thus have the right to speak to you," the Son of Wolfred spoke as he sheathed his sword. "Frankly, your behaviour is atrocious," the Son of Wolfred said, thinking back to his own past behaviour and internally berating himself.

Being a spectator this time around was like a slap to his face.

His father had been right.

A knight, or a leader of the people should never act in such a way.

The words the Son of Wolfred spoke drew an astonished expression on Emily's face as she was the one the Son of Wolfred had once belittled.

Petris's eyes narrowed before he scoffed. "You? A noble?" He didn't say anything as he looked the Son of Wolfred up and down, grudgingly seeing truth in the Son of Wolfred's words based on the clothing he wore. After all, no poor man would ever dare impersonate the likeness of nobility through fear off death.

Still, Petris would not acknowledge the Son of Wolfred's words. "Must be a bastard then," he ended up saying.

The Son of Wolfred was livid. Never before had he been so disregarded.

"Still," Petris continued. "Your father gifted you with a fine sword."

The Son of Wolfred didn't even blink. "The answer is, no."

Petris glared, but quickly schooled his features. "How about a bet then?" He proposed. "Should any of your group attain a higher position in this competition than my group, then it will be my loss. Otherwise it's my win if we come out on top. Naturally your sword would then become mine."

Shirou's eyes flashed with warning as he noticed the impulsive look on the Son of Wolfred's face, yet before he could even act, it was Arturia who spoke.

"Naturally if we win you'd owe us an equal reward," Arturia spoke with a calm expression, yet was somewhat frustrated that no penalty would be given should Petris lose. Fairness was a part of chivalry as well, and Petris was already getting on her nerves with the sheer arrogance of his speech and actions.

Petris frowned before speaking, "state your terms."

Palamid hmphed before he answered for the Son of Wolfred. "For belittling the Son of Wolfred, it's only natural that you would grovel at his feet for forgiveness."

Petris's followers began cursing, but Petris didn't seem effected. "Accepted," he said simply. "You will understand the folly in acting against me soon enough anyway."

With a flourish of his hands, his own sword was drawn before cleanly slicing through a block of wood. Those followers behind him quickly did the same before following Petris through the competition's entrance.

"Was this really necessary?" Shirou ended up asking as he shook his head, eyes set on the group.

He could smell trouble.

And knowing his luck, it wasn't far.

"It's simple Shirou," Arturia spoke crossing her arms. Her demeanor was calm, with a small regal feeling which only heightened as she aged. "We just have to beat them fairly. That way, no trouble would fall upon us."

Shirou sighed. He wasn't worried about being able to win the bet. Arturia was amazing with her sword, and furthermore, he was counted as a part of the Son of Wolfred's group. He could confidently say that no freshly trained youth would be able to best him in this competition.

What he was worried about, were the repercussions involved after winning.

Still, as Arturia and Palamid each cut their own block of wood, he followed into the competition swiftly afterwards. Emily wasn't a fighter and decided to find a good vantage point in the crowd.

There were a large number of participants in the competition, and the rules were rather straight forward. It was a one-verse-one fight with six fights happening at the same time in the preliminaries to weed out the numbers. The semi, and finals would be held in the same way, but based on only a single one-on-one duel for spectators to get more of a thrill. Competitors also had the option to concede at any time in the fight.

Weapons and equipment would be provided by the hosting staff, making every competitor participate with a weapon they were unfamiliar with to make the matches more even. However, if one really thought about it, it was because of the difference in quality of weapon. There was no doubt that most competitors that were able to make it into the competition at least had some standing, but there were still differences in the quality of their swords. Duke families would have better equipment than Baron families after all.

As the competition went underway, it didn't take long before everyone in the group was called up at least twice to participate for the numbers to fall down to a mere thirty.

Arturia, Palamid, and himself easily trounced all competition with superior sword play.

None were their equal in regard to people of similar age.

The truly surprising event lied in the Son of Wolfred's performance.

He was actually quite skilled with a sword.

Palamid then began to explain that the Son of Wolfred had recently undergone rapid improvement in his swordplay under the instruction of Sir Anders. The Son of Wolfred himself then disclosed that he only improved so quickly because he had heard Sir Anders talk of the previous war, and had thus put in more effort to increase his strength.

He was trained ever since he was young after all.

During those matches in which Shirou's group continued winning, Petris and his followers looked as if they had swallowed a sour pill.

* * *

"We can't fight them one on one like this," a voice spoke. "It's impossible for us to defeat anyone in their group, they're too skilled."

There was a pause before another voice spoke. "I have an idea," the voice said.

A moment passed in hushed whispers.

"Very well, leave it to me."

* * *

There was a brief interlude in the coming match as the hosts of the competition made a sudden change in the procedures stating that they were still too long. Therefore, for the first few round of the semis, a tag battle was proposed. Partners were assigned based on a draw.

In which case, the pairs in Shirou's group were Palamid and himself, and Arturia and the Son of Wolfred.

The sudden change was quite odd, but no one truly complained. After all, they couldn't bring themselves to argue with the hosts.

Three matches later, and Arturia and the Son of Wolfred took to the arena.

There opponents in this round, were unexpectedly, Petris and a short haired follower with a freckled face and an unsightly grin. His body was slightly rotund, but didn't appear as if it affected him much at all. Petris was standing a great distance away from him, weary of the smell he was giving off.

No words were exchanged in that moment. Both groups simply readying themselves, Arturia with her left foot leading forward, and her sword held above waist-level, and the Son of Wolfred in a free stance.

Coincidently, Arturia was closer to the freckled follower, and was thus delegated to face him. Her face contorted in disgust as she smelled the odour, and for a moment, her gaze seemed to want to argue with her partner for an opponent switch. However, the Son of Wolfred had already moved in to engage.

Inwardly cursing, Arturia attacked while holding her breath.

Her sword was swift, seeking to end the fight as soon as possible.

She started with a quick overhead, before moving into a horizontal slash.

The freckled follower was fumbling with his sword, his hands shaking with each consecutive impact.

She increased the pressure, utilizing her footwork to attack at even wider angles.

Shirou watched intently from the crowds, a small smile on his face. He could tell that even though Arturia was rushing to defeat her opponent, she wasn't being reckless. The foot work she was using was the exact same foot work Saber had once taught him, and it was designed as a counter to any of an adversary's attacks.

Off to the side, Shirou was quite impressed with the technique and skill the Son of Wolfred was showing. The once tranquil expression on Petris's face contorting in panic as he was hard pressed to fend off all of the Son of Wolfred's blows.

"Don't you think it's odd?" Emily spoke up from beside Shirou.

Both Shirou and Palamid were currently in the crowd with Emily for a better view of the arena.

"What is?" Palamid asked.

Emily focused with her eyes before nodding her head. "Look at that Petris fellow's eyes," she said. "It looks like he's trying to convey something to the other guy with freckles?"

She wasn't sure if her observation was correct, which was why she brought it up in the first place.

Shirou and Palamid quickly took notice of Emily's observation.

Back in the arena.

Arturia finally took a breath after holding it in for so long, and instantly she felt the need to gag.

This, wasn't this cheating?

She forced back the reflex and instead took the time to study the opponent. Indignation quickly swelled from within her as she realized her opponent's eyes weren't even on her, instead they were facing in Petris's direction.

Suddenly, the freckled follower heavily swung his blade and knocked her off balance long enough for him to make a mad dash toward the Son of Wolfred.

Realizing this, she immediately tried to intervene, keeping in front of him at the cost of nicking her arm on the sharp end of the freckled followers sword.

The freckled follower stopped all at once before snorting. "You fool," he spoke.

The freckled follower then made some distance away, stopping roughly five meters from where Petris was fighting.

Arturia didn't respond to the provocation and instead just heightened her weariness, choosing to slow the fight down and reassess her opponent.

However, as time went by, she quickly realized something as the freckled follower moved in with an overhead strike.

_Poison!?_

She couldn't move in time, her body abruptly going sluggish.

Shirou felt a sinking sensation in his gut as he didn't understand why Arturia was not dodging such a wide swing, and at this point he couldn't do anything from his distance away.

The freckled follower's sword dropped down with a clang against the arena ground.

A muffled scream ringing out.

"Y-You, why?" Arturia spoke in horror from her position on the ground.

The Son of Wolfred had forsaken his fight against Petris and shoved her out of the way. However, the action had cost him dearly as Petris ruthlessly capitalized on the provided opening.

The wound inflicted on the Son of Wolfred's right hand was fatal to the life of a swordsman. He would never again be able to properly wield a sword.

Palamid was outraged, his body pushing past the crowd, but there was already nothing he could do.

Blood dripped down to the ground, the hatred in the Son of Wolfred's eyes was unconcealed as he glared at the youngest son of Vernier.

Of all wounds, he could have possibly obtained, a specific attack to his hand was inconceivable. There was no way that Petris's strike was unintentional.

He gritted his teeth and didn't utter a word as he grabbed Arturia's arm with his left hand and urged her off the stage with little resistance on her end.

At this point, there was no way Arturia could win against two people with the poison spread within her body.

Arturia reluctantly followed, sending a scathing stare at her opponents as she began to walk away.

"Don't forget about the bet," Petris's voice trailed behind the two. "None in your group have the chance to be the champion. Cherish that sword well for it will be mine in a mere few hours."

With despondent looks on their faces, the two arrived back in the circle of their companions.

Palamid was the first to act, grabbing the Son of Wolfred's right arm and inspecting the wound for himself. " _Bastards_ ," he seethed before turning a glare towards Arturia. "I thought you were better than this!" He yelled in his rage. "How could you have not dodged such a slow attack?"

"His blade was _poisoned_ ," Arturia bit out. "However, my constitution should be able to get rid of it."

Merlin had once bestowed some kind of magic on her to prevent her from dying from any poisons.

Hearing Arturia's explanation, Palamid's expression thinned. "I'm going to cripple them," he said.

Not one in the group refuted Palamid's statement. Even Shirou for all the caution Sir Ector had given him regarding to causing trouble to the Vernier family kept his mouth shut. Instead his eyes were focused dangerously on Arturia's pale complexion.

The hands by his side clenched into fists, the whites of his knuckles showing.

If the Son of Wolfred did not act as he did…

He turned to the Son of Wolfred. "Thank you," he spoke seriously.

"No," the Son of Wolfred brushed Shirou's apology aside. "Don't thank me, rather it's still me who should be apologizing to you."

The Son of Wolfred used this moment to bring about his past grievances as his future as a Knight may as well have been completely sealed. And with it, any hopes he had of stepping out of his father's shadow.

The Son of Wolfred bitterly looked at his wounded right hand before speaking. "Back then when we first met, I'd always regretted the action I took that day, perhaps this is just atonement." He tried to clench his right hand, but the only fingers that moved were his thumb and two fingers.

"I've long forgotten such things," Shirou spoke, his eyes glancing at the wounded hand. "And there is no way this wound will be the price of atonement, that I guarantee you."

With his word said, Shirou walked up to the stage, the spectators parting and giving a wide berth as Palamid silently followed along with him for the team match.

Upon arriving in front of Petris, he threw down the steel sword that was provided for him as he entered the arena, the sound of its clatter echoing within the ears of the befuddled audience.

He didn't pay them any attention.

His actions were in retribution.

His sow to reap.

"To defeat someone like you," he walked near the edge of the arena, and picked up a small stick roughly arms-length.

"This thin piece of wood is enough."


	18. Chapter 18

In the memories, he still remembered from Saber, a majority of them involved battles and events after she had drawn forth the Sword in the Stone. The only memories of her early childhood that were shared were the strongest ones with the most significance. The town of Bristol, and the lasting impressions of Sir Ector and her brother Kay, were some of, if not the most, prevalent. As such, even if he had never had the chance to meet Sir Ector or Kay, he would still have a favourable outlook towards their characters. Regardless though, that was not his main concern, but rather, it was his lack of knowledge that prevented him from acting. Just as previously stated, he truly did not know much of Arturia's past before she drew forth the Sword in the Stone.

This was why he had allowed Arturia to decide on all her decisions, and he simply being there to keep her safe. The experiences she had to shape her into the woman she was in the future, he had no inkling of, and as such, he would not force her to follow his own decisions.

For her sake, he could never be selfish. This was why, even at the end of the Holy Grail War, he had still conceded to her wishes, and lost her forever…or so it seemed.

However, the feelings he had for her never changed.

No matter how strong willed he, or any man in particular may be, there was just something about men that thoroughly infuriated them when their woman or children were wronged. It was an irrational sort of thing, yet in any case, it was currently what was spurring him into action; that, and the injustice done to a friend he understood had matured to be a better man.

As an advocate of saving all, he didn't normally indulge in such behaviour as he did in fact loath it, but irrationality was not something to be reasoned with; even more so when he noticed the paleness of Arturia's face, and the slow and dull breath that escaped past her mouth.

He was, and still is the man who had dared fight against the Servants of the Holy Grail just to stand side-by-side with the woman he loved. His level of recklessness had never changed. Thus, his foresight was not exactly the greatest in times of agitation or helplessness even as he grew older; in truth, it had probably only become worse. This was why when he had once been put in a situation where all he could do to prevent injury to Saber was to take the blow onto himself, he didn't hesitate in the slightest.

That recklessness was the exact same now.

He just could not sit still any longer.

The thin stick in his hand near an inch in diameter and a meter in length, swerved in a crescent to tap gently against the ground in a provocative manor. "Ten moves," he spoke clearly. "I will give you ten moves before I defeat you in one."

"He thinks himself a jester," someone in the crowd laughed.

The notion of defeating Petris, a Son of Vernier trained in the sword since young, in a single move was unheard of. Even more so when the party threatening to do so was armed with a stick that could be snapped in half with just the shifting of one's hands let alone against a blade's edge. If even that was not enough, the offending party had even given ten free moves. It was literally as if he was throwing the match.

Off to the side, Arturia had her brows creased, and even the Son of Wolfred with a hand pressing a cloth to his wrist to staunch the blood from his injury was frowning. Emily's expression was more confused if anything. She had never been one to train in the sword or spectate a bout between Knights.

"You?" Palamid eyed him as if he was crazy.

"Just hold off the other guy for now, and be sure to watch out for his blade," he spoke.

He didn't need to explain to Palamid that the blade was poisoned, its effect on Arturia was evident enough. Still, the fact that the competition management didn't make a big deal out of it, and was turning a blind eye meant that they were allowing this breach in the rules.

Palamid shrugged before his gaze hardened beneath his helm. "I can do more than just hold him off, but that special service from myself is reserved for another more deserving vermin."

Palamid then turned to Arturia's previous opponent. "I will not offer you any terms, but the low and foul found within Roan are quite evident within you."

The freckled follower smiled before replying, "Victory is what matters."

Palamid grunted as his grip around his sword-hilt loosened, his body relaxing into a state of chilling calm. "In all my life, I have only ever been defeated once by one opponent," he spoke, tapping the pommel of his sword to his chest-plate and creating a resounding ding. "That opponent is the one previously defeated by you."

"Then that makes me, Edw-"

"I have no need for the name of someone like you," Palamid interrupted coldly. "You need only know that the strength of your previous opponent was not at his max capability." His sword came up in an arc and pointed squarely at the freckled youth's chest. "This I assure you. If not for a mere coincidence that you managed to land a graze, it would not be that damnable Petris standing over there."

A warm sort of inner pride stemmed from within Arturia's chest, knowing what Palamid thought of her. As someone who she believed was similarly hiding away her gender, and was thus able to relate to her, it was an invigorating sort of emotion. In a way, she could completely understand what Palamid was implying. First, she would have defeated her opponent, and then promptly moved on to defeat Petris alongside the Son of Wolfred should he need the help.

"Useless words," Petris who had remained silent for the longest time finally spoke. Not only had Shirou's words stunned him, but they completely infuriated him to the point of speechlessness. To be allowed ten moves, and then be defeated in a single blow? It was a humiliation. Even if he managed to win, what pride or justification of his ability could he speak of knowing that he defeated an opponent using a mere stick? Either outcome was a blow to his self-image, and should he lose, how could he ever face his father and older brothers?

"You, poverty ridden swine, pick up your blade!" Petris raged.

Many in the crowd had startled expressions after Petris's words. Looking at Shirou's attire alone, what part of him screamed poor? This was obviously a means to slight the other party. The majority of them had only a single thought.

As expected of nobles.

Shirou stared at Petris before he shook his head. "This thin piece of wood is enough," he repeated his words. Looking carefully at the situation, he could determine exactly the root cause of Petris's behaviour. However, he didn't place social image in high regard in the first place.

He turned towards the competition administrators, motioning for them to begin the match. His actions were not breaching the rules of the competition as he did not technically bring his own weapon for use. Besides, not only was the stick found within the competition grounds, but no one truly regarded a thin piece of wood as a weapon.

Reluctantly, the administration called for the start of the match.

"Ten moves," he reminded, standing still with his hands pointing the shaft of the wooden stick out.

Petris regarded him coldly, but the match did not start with his provocation, but rather Palamid's initiative.

Palamid did not waste a single breath as the freckled youth opened his mouth, but rather began an opening salvo with the blade he had in hand. His movements were like flowing water, his blade mercilessly exploiting any of the natural openings created due to the freckled youth's portly body. After all, body shape dictated the flexibility and maneuverability of an individual. In fact, it was in direct proportion to physical ability.

By the time the freckled youth could even take a breath, Palamid was already forcing him to the edge of the arena grounds.

This was the exact situation Arturia could have had achieved if she had not paid too much attention to her opponent's smell, nor held back to get an accurate gauge on the enemy. Sometimes it was just best to press forward with all of one's ability, and that was exactly what Palamid was doing.

All of these actions happened in less than three breaths of time, causing Petris to click his tongue. This was exactly as he had expected. The enemy possessed too great a sword skill then even he himself possessed. Without a few underhanded tactics, there was no way his side would have had won without relying on his elder brother, and doing so would bring him no great honours. As a matter of fact, it would probably be detrimental to his family standing. Yet his current situation was already forcing his hand.

"Draw. Your. Sword!" Petris yelled. He could not bring himself to endure such embarrassment, but he also knew that if he did not act soon, Palamid would over power the freckled youth, and soon be on his way.

Shirou simply stood rooted, his actions forcing Petris to act.

Agitated, Petris swung his sword down utilizing half of his body weight. Normally this should have been more than enough to cleanly sever even a block of hard wood, yet the stick in Shirou's hand was just too weird. Rather than break or bend due to the pressure, it seemed to twist around the blade before deflecting the strength of the attack down to the ground.

"One," Shirou spoke.

Petris felt like someone just punched him in the gut. This was too much of an embarrassment. "You cur!" He yelled before attacking again.

_The second blow._

_The third._

_The fourth._

_The Fifth._

By now, the crowd had already gone completely silent. The only difference between individuals was the varying degree of emotion on one's face. While the majority where caught in a state between bewilderment and incredulousness, others on Petris's side were ashen faced, while others like the Son of Wolfred could not help but beam. The focal point of the entire match was no longer on just Palamid and the freckled youth, but on Petris and Shirou alone.

"H-How!" Petris spoke, unable to hold in his growing resentment.

Shirou kept silent as he methodically redirected Petris's sword before poking him on the forehead, a red welt developing and resembling a horn as Petris staggered back. Clearly, as impossible as it may be, Shirou was winning with just a stick.

However, in Shirou's hands, the stick was not an ordinary stick, but an object as hard as steel. Shirou held no notions that if he had not reinforced the stick, it would have long broken by now despite the technique involved in dissipating the force behind Petris's attacks.

He had seen first-hand how Saber had dealt with the attacks of the Berserker class Hercules, the great hero of Greece. Her strength was in no way equal to the famed hero, and yet before him on that distant night, in the face of that famed hero's strength, she stood at the forefront with her blade in hand. That steady figure was one he could never forget. The way her sword moved, and the fierce protectiveness in her eyes, at this moment, he unknowingly embodied it all in the eyes of his friends.

Regardless, he closed his eyes.

_The sixth blow._

The soft thump of wood echoed out once more. The image of her lived on in him: Techniques, ideals, and even her hardships. Throughout the time after the Holy Grail War, he had taken them all to heart.

To recreate that which he had once seen. It was not just in his ability to understand the history of a weapon and its owner, but on the emphasis of the importance the ability had on him. Otherwise, how could he remember every technique he had ever witnessed without first tracing out the owner's weapon? The stick in his hand, was a simple stick. No history aside from how it was chopped down from a tree, yet the manner in which he wielded it was extraordinary.

_The seventh blow._

_The eigth._

Petris's face was pale. If before he felt like someone punched him in the gut, now as he was approaching the tenth strike, he felt like ripping his own hair out in dismay. It just didn't make sense. Even if Shirou was redirecting the strength of his attacks, the feasibility of wood and its make to fend off sharpened steel was impossible. Take for example how a carving knife can shape wood with the smallest exertion of force from the hands by placing the blade's edge to dig slightly into the surface. The situation was similar. His sword was sharp, one of the best from the local blacksmith, and even the craftsmanship was evident for all to see. However, despite pressing up against the stick in Shirou's hands, it didn't so much as shave a millimeter of wood off, his sword sliding down the shaft and smashed against the ground.

Swinging his sword again, Petris fell back onto the teachings of his family's sword style. His two hands loosened around on the grip of his hilt as he struck forward.

_The ninth blow._

As expected, the swing was once again blocked, but due to the loose grip Petris had in his hands, his sword was knocked out of his grip and flung twisting in the air above.

Shirou's eyes widened for a moment when immediately after he disarmed Petris, Petris grabbed the blade edge of his sword and struck down with the hilt.

He had once heard of this technique, half-swording. By grabbing the central part of the sword blade with the left hand, a stronger thrust could be produced to even kill heavily armoured opponents. In this case, Petris had used the pommel-end of his sword to attack. By doing so, it was clear that he hoped to power through with blunt force.

Furthermore, the hilt itself would stop Shirou from shifting the weight of Petris's swing to the ground.

"You're mine!" Petris exclaimed.

It really was a maneuver that reflected Petris's skill with the blade, but unfortunately, he was paired up against a steel wall.

Shirou's gaze did not falter in the slightest, instead he stepped forward.

Petris's eyes widened as he realized what had just happened. The maximum power of a thrust or a swing was not found in close combat, but at the furthest point of the swing or thrust. By stepping forward, Shirou had already reduced the force of the incoming attack by more than half.

_The tenth blow._

With a clang, Petris's sword was forcibly ejected from his hands, blood seeping from between his fingers, a stunned look over his face. Ironically, the hilt he had used to try to disarm Shirou was what lead to his own disarment, the hilt catching against the sword and providing leverage.

"My turn," Shirou spoke as he struck out with his stick.

"No," a calm voice suddenly called. "Allow me."

A pained scream echoed out for what seemed like the entirety of Roan.

Before the competition administrators could even call for a stop to the match, Palamid had already made his move, his sword gleaming in the light before directly stabbing through Petris's hand.

"An eye for an eye," Palamid vindictively spoke before pulling out his sword. As the crowd had been transfixed on Petris's fight, they had neglected to witness Palamid defeat the freckled youth and make his way over before it was too late.

Shirou furrowed his brows. He didn't intend to go too far in this match against Petris. In fact, from his understanding, reputation meant a lot more to a noble than a defeat. This was why he had gone to such lengths to secure victory with a stick.

Still, there was a sense of ironic justice in the situation that the Son of Wolfred couldn't help but rejoice in.

"A-Arrest him!" One of the competition administrators spoke. It was embarrassing enough that they had altered the rules to gain favour with the Vernier family, but now that a son of Vernier was injured, if they did not act, they could possibly be held liable for negligence.

Yet no one moved.

What had happened was just too shocking. Not only was Petris unable to defeat an opponent using only a stick, but he could do nothing to retaliate when he was forced into the defensive.

Soft murmurs travelled throughout the crowd, none more aware of it than Petris himself. Moreover, looking at his hand, he knew that he would no longer be able to hold a sword properly ever again. He glared at Palamid. There was no way he would ever let this go.

Silently standing on his feet, Petris glanced at the freckled youth who had already been thoroughly beaten on the opposite side of the arena and sneered in disgust. He then turned to address Palamid. "This isn't over," he spoke firmly before walking off the stage.

Left uncertain with how to proceed, the initial administrator who called for Palamid's arrest began discussing with his colleagues. They then decided to put a hold on the competition's finale.

Returning to their side, Arturia and Emily began to question Shirou on the swordsmanship he had displayed.

Meanwhile, Palamid was met with an unreadable look from the Son of Wolfred.

"Thank you," the Son of Wolfred said simply.

"It's not something worth your thanks," Palamid replied before staring at the enemy camp as he crossed his arms. "Rather we best prepare for a coming storm."

* * *

Cursing, Petris shattered the cup provided for him by a servant against the floor. "Get out! All of you out!"

Terrified, the servants that had come by the orders of the competition administrators scampered out of the Vernier family tent, leaving behind only a few individuals.

"Is this any way to act foolish brother?" A man standing with his arms crossed stepped forward.

The man's brown hair was pulled back in a knot at the back of his head, giving him an orderly kind of appearance. With a square face and a scraggily beard, he projected an aura that was quite domineering. The acute narrowing of his eyes made it even more apparent.

"Marvic," Petris spoke coldly. "I do not need your opinion."

Marvic snickered. "Then I suppose you can handle things yourself with that useless hand of yours?"

Petris didn't answer, but the friends he had brought with him cursed at Marvic on his behalf. Marvic however, didn't care and continued speaking.

"Father had asked us to come participate in this competition to increase the influence of our family name such that there will be no opposition when our family becomes the new sovereign of the land." Marvic shrugged his shoulders. "And now look at you, the youngest child. Not only have you not done what father and the madam had asked of us, but your performance had the opposite effect."

"Shut up," Petris warned.

"Oh? And what could you possibly do to make me?" Marvic fingered the hilt of his sword. "Petris, the beaten dog of the Vernier family. By now news of your defeat by this Shirou character should have spread across the entirety of Roan."

Petris clenched his fist, and glared. "What's your point," he spoke. "Enough with your useless talk."

"Humph, at least your smart enough to understand. Then I'll cut straight to the point." Marvic grinned. "What bet did you make to go as far as to poison a blade and ask the competition administrators for help?"

Petris froze for a moment before thinking things through. Perhaps he could use this situation to his advantage. After all, he would no longer be able to use his own sword, therefore, he should use a barrowed one. However, he still hesitated. There was a reason he didn't want his elder brother to be involved, and that was precisely because he loathed Marvic, his second eldest brother. Not only did Marvic have aspirations to succeed his father over his eldest brother in the noble house of Vernier, but he was also on the closest terms with the madam.

Still, vengeance at this point far out-weighed anything else. Thus he, he reluctantly began to explain.

"You are a fool, Petris," Marvic smiled. "If not for me being here, would you not be forced to grovel at that low-born noble's feet? Thus, it's only natural that that sword belongs to me in the end."

Petris didn't say a word, only hoping for a mutual fatal-defeat between Marvic and the ones named Palamid and Shirou.

"You," Marvic pointed at the freckled youth who had lost previously in the competition. "Call the administrators here, my participation has long since been overdue."

* * *

When Shirou heard the recommencement of the competition, only he and Palamid were left to participate from their group. Arturia and the Son of Wolfred were already defeated in the previous round of the semi-finals, and only four of them had chosen to compete in the first place.

Now that the finals of the competition were going underway, from where he stood, he could make out the back of the famed Knight of Roan mentioned in the prize of the competition.

As stated in the boards they had seen just outside the tavern they were staying in, a knight of Roan would impart some teachings onto the young lad who won the competition. To him and those in his group, it wasn't much of a prize, but for the squires of Roan, it was definitely a big deal. Thus, if it weren't for the bet that was previously made, he would have had conceded defeat to his opponents long ago to give them a chance at instruction.

"Don't you guys think that man is too old to participate in a young blade's competition?" Emily asked.

From the direction Emily was staring at, she was indeed correct. Most of the participants of the Young Blade's competition were around thirteen to fourteen like themselves. However, the man that had stepped out of the Vernier family's tent appeared to already be over the age of eighteen.

"You're right," Palamid observed.

The difference between an eighteen-year-old and a young youth was simply too difficult to overcome for most people. Not only did an eighteen-year-old have superior strength, but they possessed superior reach and experience.

"He wouldn't be allowed to participate, would he?" The Son of Wolfred asked, wincing as he continued to bandaged his wounded hand.

Contrary to expectations, the administration not only allowed the man to compete, but by doing so they had exempted him from both the preliminary's and semi's, and placed him straight into the finals. This action drew much resentment from both spectators and competitors alike, yet they had no say in the decision.

He watched carefully as the man seemed to stare in their direction before grinning and motioning to the sword tied by his waist.

"How far are these people willing to go for a bet?" Arturia furrowed her brows. "I should speak with them and try to point out the error of their ways. Especially that man that just came out," she spoke self-assuredly.

Based on the way she was raised by Sir Ector, it would only be right. Despite being poisoned by her opponent, and although she felt greatly wronged, she knew it was her duty as a knight to correct an individual's wrongs given the opportunity.

"Don't," he spoke before placing a hand on Arturia's shoulder. "Looking at the extent of their preparation, you may as well give up now."

"Shirou's right," Palamid spoke. "Bors and Sir Anders had once taught me how to differentiate between men you could trust, and men you should never approach," he spoke matter-of-factly. What he didn't know, was that at the time Bors and Sir Anders were lecturing him, they were lecturing him on how a lady should be conscious of the men she decides to interact with. Therefore, most of his knowledge was in fact common knowledge that most noble ladies were taught from a young age.

If Palamid knew this fact, he would probably grow increasingly infuriated at Bors and Sir Anders. Still, the point of the matter was that he was taught the difference between a decent man, and an indecent man.

"Look at his eyes," Palamid spoke as he uncrossed his arms. "Looking closely, you can see that he appears to be belittling everyone. Aside from that, you all saw from that smile of his that his teeth appear yellow."

There was a silence that Palamid did not take note of as he continued.

"Even if I didn't take off this helmet, I can smell him all the way from here," Palamid begin to list off with his fingers. "He seems obnoxious, self-centered, and his long-crooked nose is a sign of future misfortune."

Pausing, Palamid narrowed his eyes before finishing his evaluation. "The only good things I can say is that from his clothing, he has wealth and a substantial amount of power. Still, I or anyone in this group should never approach a man like him." Palamid turned to Arturia with a nod. "The only men worth approaching are those who have a clear conscience, bright eyes, and are increasingly faithful. A trait shown in their actions," Palamid finished with a nod.

The people in the rest of the group like the Son of Wolfred, Emily, Arturia, and even himself, were stunned for a moment. When men normally sized up one another, it normally depended on the bearings of the other man, and the invisible aura they exuded: Either one of confidence, ferociousness, or even dedication. Yet the way Palamid was sizing up the man, it seemed to be more on the side of a marriage prospective.

"P-Palamid, you?" The Son of Wolfred swallowed, remembering the beauty of the face beneath the helm. "I swear I'll make you happy one day."

Palamid stared at the Son of Wolfred in confusion before laughing good naturedly. "Friend, I'm already quite happy that you've moved away from the brat I used to know."

The Son of Wolfred's face coloured before he turned away.

Meanwhile, Arturia was staring at Palamid in awe. One first had to remember that she, like most people, believed Palamid to be a woman. Thus, she believed that the two were in similar situation of hiding their genders. After all, common knowledge said that men were the ones who possessed the authority to dictate the world. Because of this, it was imperative that the secret remained a secret, yet Palamid was being too bold. What if others found out? Yet because of this same boldness, she couldn't help but admire Palamid, wondering to herself if she could ever be the same with her own feelings. After all, wasn't Palamid? The words Palamid spoke seemed to be her exact preference in men.

"Uhm, yeah, let's just put this aside for now," he spoke. "The competition has already started."

While Palamid had been talking, many of the finalists had begun fighting. As the rules were changed part way into the semi's, the finals after a long discussion were going to be held in the same way with two-vs-two battles.

After waiting for only a short moment, Shirou and Palamid were once more called up to take to the stage.

"Hey, isn't that the lad who beat em Petris with a stick?"

"Y-Yes it is!"

"Look, he's even still holding onto that stick of his!"

Voices from the crowd cheered as he stepped onto the stage. Exactly on what the crowd had said, he did indeed still wield the stick he had in his hand. At this point, it wasn't because he wanted to continue using it, but the sword he was supposed to use for the competition was already taken away. Of course, he had asked for a sword, but the cheers from the crowd dissuaded the administrators from acceding to his request.

If he could defeat Petris with a stick, he might as well continue using it, was what most of the crowd thought.

"So, you were the one who defeated my youngest brother," the eighteen-year-old spoke. "My name is Marvic, and I do hope you remember the stakes of the bet you made."

Palamid grunted, and even he couldn't help but smile wryly. Seconds after just stepping onto the stage, and already the first thing out of the opponent's mouth was a reminder for the bet.

"See, exactly as described," Palamid said as he moved to his corner of the arena to face his opponent: a robust looking youth whose hair was shaved bald, and also possessed a scar that travelled down the side of his face.

His opponent was once again a son of Vernier.

He brandished his stick, and only then did the expression on Marvic's face change.

"Looking down on me huh?" Marvic laughed, his eyes narrowing. "Gonna offer me ten moves too?"

"No," he replied.

Marvic's eyes brightened. "Does that mean you now understand how hopeless you are against me, the future King?"

His brow creased upon hearing Marvic's words. From what Sir Ector and he knew, it was a long way before a future King could be decided. Even more so when the proposed jousting match was nowhere near soon. Pondering over this fact, there was only one answer hidden in between the lines of Marvic's words.

His face blanked before he spoke. "Regardless of what you do, you will never draw that sword," he said.

Marvic was caught surprised for a moment, his mouth opened but no words coming out. "And why is that?" He inquired after a moment, hands tightening around the hilt of his sword in warning.

"Because you are not worthy," he answered simply.

He could envision it plainly, the reason why this bet had garnered the interest of Marvic.

A sword that could cut through stone could not only be insurmountable on the battle field, but there could be a more specific use such as freeing the Sword in the Stone. However, even if the rock surrounding the Sword in the Stone were to be chipped off, the sword itself would either just sink deeper into the ground, or find another stone to lodge itself in. After all, Caliburn was the sword of choosing. One who was not worthy to be the King of Britain would never be able to wield it no matter how hard or what methods one tried.

"Is that all you have to say?" Marvic asked, drawing forth his sword.

He didn't reply, and along with Palamid, patiently waited for the Administrators to begin the match.

Calling for the start, Palamid nodded in his direction before moving to face his opponent.

Moments later, Shirou stood in front of Marvic.

Neither of them spoke and just eyed the other.

It wasn't until the loud bang of Palamid's blade meeting against his opponent's did the two act.

One was like lightning, moving swiftly and weaving around heavy blows, while the other was like a fierce typhoon, blowing everything away.

In Marvic's eyes, the stick before him was no longer just a mere stick, but a mighty weapon. Facing off against it, he now understood how Petris was defeated. What gave him chills however was a familiar feeling. It wasn't until the third exchange that he was able to accurately identify it. The stick he was facing off against gave off a similar feeling as one of the madam's possessions.

A trace of fear flickered across Marvic's eyes, yet it only caused him to fight harder.

Against the madam, he was nothing.

Not even worth more than a bug.

That was just how strong she was and how she viewed the world.

Still, Marvic could not bring himself to lose, his attacks becoming more hurried.

In Shirou's eyes, this change in battle tempo was not missed in the slightest. In fact, he had even seen traces of wariness in Marvic's eyes after each exchange after the third. Did he somehow recognize that he was using magic to reinforce the stick? If so, then how?

Spittle flew as an erratic swing managed to graze him on the side of his head. Luckily, he was only struck by the flat of the blade. However, the fact that Marvic was able to get a blow through greatly improved Marvic's confidence.

Still though, he wasn't worried.

After a few more exchanges, Marvic's breath became laboured, and it was then that Shirou chose to speak up. "Although your attacks are stronger and faster than Petris's, and although you may also have superior technique, your flaw is far too apparent," he said.

A pained groan sounded out as the stick in his hand managed to flick Marvic's nose. Not only did the attack act to infuriate, but it also revealed the fine skill and control he possessed.

Roaring, Marvic pushed forward with a single step, his form like a fierce jumping tiger as he thrusted out.

Instead of panicking, he only shook his head.

"You are simply too impatient," he spoke, subsequently whacking Marvic's lead knee and causing him to stagger before kneeling against the ground.

" _You!_ " Marvic struck out with the sword he still had in his hand, twisting his body to generate more power.

His eyes narrowed yet he did nothing as the sword edge neared his neck. After all, he didn't need to.

Marvic's sword stopped inches before it could even touch his neck.

"H-How?" Marvic spoke, his right arm going limp.

The answer was simple. Throughout the series of exchanges that had occurred between him and Marvic, not only did Marvic neglect to defend against the stick attacking his arm, he merely brushed it off as the attack did not inflict much pain. However, by doing so, Marvic did not take into account that an injury inflicted on the same place multiple times would eventually hinder him in the most crucial of moments.

"You lose," he spoke, disarming Marvic with a kick before attacking.

With an echoing thwack, another Son of Vernier was defeated by a simple stick.

* * *

The crowd went into an uproar.

Arturia, Emily, and the Son of Wolfred were quick to show their encouragement, but Petris was far more conflicted.

On one hand, he enjoyed seeing his second eldest brother get thoroughly defeated, but on the other hand, he knew that he had lost his bet, and that his vengeance would not be fulfilled on this day.

It didn't surprise him that moments after Marvic's defeat, Palamid and Shirou withdrew from the competition. After all, all they had to do to win the bet was finish the competition in a higher spot than those in Petris's side. In which, those that Petris had brought with him today had all already been defeated.

The injury on his hand stung, and the feelings of hatred once again surfaced from within him. Even more so, when Palamid walked up to him and casualy reminded him that he would have to grovel at the Son of Wolfred's feet.

His body was trembling in repressed rage. There was no way he could do it. Never.

"Petris? Marvic?" A voice spoke. "What is going on here?"

The one who spoke within the Vernier's area, was the eldest child of Vernier. As Duke Vernier placed an emphasis on this competition, the eldest child was also sent to make sure everything would go smoothly. This being the case, the eldest child of Vernier had just arrived as he did not believe his two brothers could not handle the situation. Unexpectedly, they weren't able to.

"Brother," Petris spoke seeing the light. He was on far better terms with his eldest brother than with Marvic who shared an antagonistic relationship.

Marvic grunted, nursing his injuries. Therefore, it was Petris who began to explain.

"They wish for a son of Vernier to grovel at the feet of a low-born noble? Preposterous," the eldest son of Vernier spoke calmly before his eyes narrowed on Petris. "To think they would even injure your sword-hand; this matter will not slide as it is," he spoke.

"They were truly barbaric," Petris said. All he had done was injure a simple low-born. In fact, if his life was compared to the Son of Wolfred, his life would obviously be worth more. He was the son of a Duke.

"Where are these people?" The eldest son of Vernier spoke.

Noticing the look on the eldest son of Vernier's face, Petris immediately beamed before leading him towards where Shirou and his group stood.

"So, you are the ones who have stained the reputation of the Vernier house," the eldest son of Vernier spoke. Already he could feel a headache coming.

From what the eldest son of Vernier's father had instructed, the purpose of participating in the young Blade's competition today was to garner more of a reputation amongst the younger generation. However, such plans had already failed, and in fact the opposite had occurred; the Vernier house's reputation had been dragged under the mud.

The notion of garnering more of a reputation amongst the people was not entirely the idea of Duke Vernier, but also the madam which made things even more difficult.

"Did you come here to fulfil the bet?" The Son of Wolfred asked, crossing his arms.

"He will do no such thing," the eldest son of Vernier spoke. "In fact, for injuring him you all are lucky that I haven't called in the guards to arrest all of you. As compensation, humph, that sword of yours will be enough."

"I'm afraid not," Shirou spoke. "We have done no wrong, and only participated within the competition's rules."

The eldest son of Vernier frowned before stating. "You were the one to beat my brothers with a stick."

Shirou nodded as there was no use lying with all the witnesses.

"Quite skilled indeed, but you have made a mistake in making an enemy of the Vernier family in Roan. That I assure you," the eldest son of Vernier spoke.

"Like we care," Palamid spoke indifferently.

"And you, the coward who hides his face away after injuring my brother unjustly. What do you have to hide if not for your own guilt?"

Palamid was infuriated. "Me, hide?"

"Yes hide. What kind of man wears a helmet over his head in a friendly competition between youths-"

Palamid resolutely removed his helm after a long moment of consideration, the implication that he wasn't a man in the eldest son of Vernier's words too hard to bear.

The eldest Son of Vernier's words died in his throat, for beneath Palamid's helm,

Was a beauty like none other.

* * *

The eldest son of Vernier's words were caught in his throat.

Even the watching crowd grew quiet.

The level of beauty was just too mesmerizing.

Was this not a princess in hiding spoken of in the household-stories of commoners and nobles alike? The kind where a valiant knight would come on a white steed and whisk the maiden away? People couldn't help but imagine the circumstances of why a woman, as viewed in the crowd's eyes, was in knight's armour.

Everyone was stunned, and that included Arturia who was stunned for other reasons.

It was then that a voice called out.

"Alright," Bors's voice cut through the crowd before he pushed past and walked up besides Palamid. "That's enough here," he then spoke curtly, lightly grabbing Palamid's helm and then placing it back over Palamid's head.

Everyone soon regained their senses afterwards. The contrast between the rugged and fierce looking helm, and the face of perfection beneath, too much of a heavy blow.

Of course, with Bors stepping in, Kay was not far behind. The two had just finished touring the town when they saw such a huge crowd forming and couldn't help but grow curious. This lead to the current situation.

"Man enough?" Palamid goaded, feeling quite proud that he had put the eldest son of Vernier in his place. Surely, he had just shown off his masculinity in the face of provocation.

The eldest son of Verneir coughed into his hand and didn't answer, instead silently staring at his two brothers before directing them to awkwardly leave along with him.

"But we can't just put this incident behind us. They injured me," Petris argued, creasing his brow.

"Petris, that's enough," the eldest son of Vernier spoke, suddenly becoming courteous as he discreetly sent a glance at Palamid before politely apologizing to the rest.

Soon after, the Vernier family and the people associated with them left.

"What the hell did we just miss?" Kay asked, scratching his head and looking to Arturia for his answers.

* * *

Interlude:

* * *

Off within the dissipating crowd, a man quietly walked away before entering a small-time tavern located adjacent to the competition grounds.

Unhurriedly, the man sat himself down in front of a counter, and ordered a small drink before turning to the person beside him. Another man idly sipping at his drink.

"Tired of watching the brothels and frolicking within the lady's courts?" The man asked.

"I don't frolic, Sir Ector, I mingle," the other man responded.

Sir Ector shrugged before speaking. "It was quite hard to find you in all actuallity."

"Makes things more interesting, no?" The man said.

Sir Ector could only sigh before speaking in a defeated tone of voice. "You knew the Vernier's were participating in that contest. There's no way you wouldn't have given how long you've already spent here in Roan."

The man froze before contemplating for a moment.

"Do you enjoy these games you're playing, Merlin?" Sir Ector moved straight to the point.

"Quite so, yes indeed," Merlin spoke before he took a sip from his drink.

Sir Ector kept silent for a moment before becoming more frank.

"You're testing that child?" He said.

Shrugging, Merlin placed down his glass and stared off into the distance past the window, not saying anything more until after a moment. "More than that," he said. "The Witch has begun to move, and that's is why I have called you here."


	19. Chapter 19

In the Vernier estate located ten miles away from Roan, Lord Vernier sat within a large office bearing a finely decorated interior with extravagantly sized windows to let in light. Candle holders were placed on the sides of the walls, and were spaced around a meter away from each other.

Across from Lord Vernier sat a woman wearing a veil over her face, which despite being transparent, made it difficult to associate her features. She had long curly brown-hair which was parted evenly at the top, exposing the ridge of her forehead.

Based on the features of the two as they sat across from each other, Lord Vernier did not very much fancy this woman, but rather seemed to be tolerating her.

"I do hope your sons can live up to expectations," the woman spoke, crossing her legs together beneath her frilled purple dress. Black laces were woven around the ends the sleeves and the hem, giving an elegant sort of appearance.

The colour purple was not something Lord Vernier chose to comment on. After all, it was the colour of Kings and rulers, and who was he to call out a vain woman who had the means to wipe out his entire noble line?

"There's nothing to concern yourself with, madam," Lord Vernier spoke bluntly.

Yes indeed. The woman before Lord Vernier was the Madam who had, in recent months, arrived and had taken residence within the Vernier house.

The madam gestured dismissively with her hand, putting the matter aside for the moment. Her choice in actions left little to be imagined about how this Madam regarded Lord Vernier as beneath her.

Quelling his anger, Lord Vernier took some time for consideration. Although he felt trepidation when it came to his youngest son, Petris, he could always rely on his oldest. As for why he no longer placed much emphasis on his second child, Marvic, he could no longer be bothered with him. Clearly, he was deferring to the camp of this Madam and her hidden agendas.

"Do you have any other matters that you wish to discuss?" Lord Vernier asked impatiently. Even one second sooner to get away from this woman was a worthy investment.

The Madam raised a brow, her hands coming to rest atop her lap, one hand over the other. "Nothing at the moment," she spoke. "It's not as if you alone would be of any help anyway."

That one comment alone nearly popped a blood vessel on Lord Vernier's face. He was the head of the Vernier family, and his influence was obviously not small. What, with his level of ability, could he possibly not be able to do?

Lord Vernier grunted before crossing his arms. "So long as you follow through with our prior agreement, I don't care about any of your other matters anyway," he spoke, ending his sentence in a similar manor.

Even if this Madam had enough power to end the Vernier family line, she obviously would not as they were necessary in the plans she had come up with herself. Lord Vernier was a smart man, and it was precisely for this reason that he could deduce such a simple fact. In which case, he would not allow a slight to his pride to stand. Therefore, he would rather break even.

"Hmhm?" the Madam hummed, her head tilting to the side, and the pitch of her voice shifting to a lower note near the end.

Lord Vernier held back his tongue. Although he knew that his participation was necessary in the Madam's plans, he wouldn't push her too far not knowing what she would do at the end of their agreement.

Moments later, a quiet and reserved knock echoed out from behind the curved oaken doors of Lord Vernier's study.

Glancing once at the Madam, and not getting a single reaction, Lord Vernier then calmly allowed a messenger into the room. They were the only type of people aside from his family that could ever deem it necessary to directly visit his office.

"My lord," the messenger spoke bowing.

"What is it?" Lord Vernier asked.

Based on how the messenger had though it fit to bring this matter straight to the office of Lord Vernier, one could see how important this information was.

"Reporting on the battle of the River Glein," the messenger spoke before fumbling with the sac he kept secured to his waist, and then bringing out a small parchment for Lord Vernier as he began to explain.

The battle of the River Glein had occurred almost a week prior, but only now did news begin to spread. This was mostly in part due to an inadequate information delivery system. Nothing was ever instant, and relied mostly in part to the speed of individual messengers, or informants of their respective kingdoms. This being the case, it was only natural that one Kingdom would receive news first based solely on the distance of travel.

After the messenger finished explaining, he quietly sat still, waiting to be dismissed before he left.

However, it was the Madam, not Lord Vernier who spoke first.

"Weapons that can cut through steel, and armour that can take the blows of mounted cavalry?" The madam crossed her arms before finally inquiring again. "And a beast?"

The messenger looked unsurely at the madam, before the Madam glared at Lord Vernier, forcing him to acquiesce due to their agreement.

The Madam had only come about in recent months, and most did not know of her status. Thus, to be acknowledged in conversation, she must first get permission from Lord Vernier as she was a woman. This being as it was, Lord Vernier was still reluctant to have others see him as a man who relied on the intelligence of a woman, despite said woman out classing him in most regards. Fickle as it was, he did not build his reputation only for it to be destroyed by his own hands.

Straightening his back before un-wrinkling a portion of his clothes, Lord Vernier looked down at the messenger with a tilt of his head. "Indulge her," he said as if he was the one in the higher position of the two.

The Madam took note of such behaviour, but didn't make any outwards signs of displeasure. She was never that sort of woman anyway, and if anything, when she struck there would be no room for retaliation.

In regards to Lord Vernier, there was only a single reason she was helping him in the first place, and it was quite clear.

The town of Roan was a place that attracted the attention of numerous nobility, and people alike. It was the selection stage of the next ruler of the country.

The town alone held the ancestry of four noble lineages including the Vernier's. Of the four, only one was able to stand up on equal footing with the Vernier's, and she couldn't allow it to remain that way to further the process of the True King's joust selection. Thus, she had plotted along with Lord Vernier to produce a showing of the strength of the younger generation, elevating the Vernier's status and allowing the noble family to be a tad more domineering in their attempts at a joust. This was due to the understanding that the younger generation would one day overtake the old.

As for why she had chosen the Vernier family, it was simply a matter of convenience.

Still, she couldn't help but grimace thinking of problems that may arise from Lord Vernier's sons. She wasn't worried though, for she had always taken everything into consideration before acting.

This particular consideration was a son of King Lot of Orkney and Lothian. Although she didn't think it would be too troublesome to coerce the help of his other brothers, their personalities were not suitable for the tasks she had in mind. In which case, she had instead managed to keep them settled within Orkney in the North, too far away to tamper with anything too vital as to be irreparable.

Those matters aside, she waited with a patient air for the messenger to answer her inquires.

With permission from Lord Vernier, the messenger answered positively to all of the Madam's inquires. The more she heard, the more the Madam seemed to fall into quiet contemplation. At the point where she completely fell silent, it was only then did Lord Vernier dismiss the messenger and turn his attention on the Madam.

"You're thinking of something?" Lord Vernier probed.

"Perhaps a troubling matter, or perhaps not," the Madam spoke. From the inquires that she had made from the messenger, she had been able to create a rough depiction of what had transpired in the battle of the River Glein.

The battle was definitely tampered with.

And yet, from what she knew, this wasn't in the style of the most contemporary Wizard in which she knew of. Therefore, she could only conclude that it was the work of one of the more reclusive Wizard families. As for whom, she had no idea as no distinguishing family mage craft was utilized in the battle. She couldn't even be sure of the application of 'Reinforcement' either as she couldn't rule out the sharpness of swords made by master smiths.

The appearance of the beast though, served as the largest indication of a Wizard's hand in the matter. A familiar perhaps?

There were only two things at this point that she needed to make sure of to validate her assumptions, and one way was to go directly to the source.

Her finger tapped gently against her lap, a transparent string of magical energy linking her with one of her familiars. Feeling the connection, she conveyed her only command.

Send out the child of Lot.

* * *

Within Roan, two pieces of information were spreading around like wildfire. The first of the two being the astonishing youth of the Young Blade's competition. This youth did not only possess a superior degree of sword skill in which he exhibited throughout the earlier rounds, but it was to such an absurd extent that he defeated his opponents with a mere stick. His opponents were not just average either, but the sons of the noble house Vernier.

Shirou Emiya, was the youth's name.

The name itself sounded so foreign that some garnered doubts if this was his real name or not. The red hair he possessed made many link him to that of Irish origin, and thus left many to believe the name a fake.

This was the general consensus.

However, no news spread as fast as a princess in hiding.

It was said that one of the participants in the Young Blade's competition along with Shirou Emiya possessed a beauty like none other. A pale complexion, with soft and smooth delicate skin that barely wrinkled upon a change in facial expression. The fact that she wore full body armour to conceal her gender pointed out the status of her lineage and nobility. If she wasn't a princess from a local King, then she surely would be the daughter of an influential aristocrat.

The only question now would be why a princess would masquerade as a Knight? Not only was this action unbefitting of a woman, but it completely contradicted the various stories of a damsel in distress.

Growing up, many have heard the stories of Knights and princesses, but who had ever heard of a princess saving a Knight?

Still, what pervaded alongside the news of a princess in hiding, was the actions of the eldest Son of Vernier, threatening anyone that so much as even held a fancy towards this princess in hiding; it was not known whether it was for feelings of affection or revenge for his youngest brother, Petris, either.

Luckily for Palamid, he was not in range to hear of such rumours as he himself along with the rest of the group were back resting in the tavern they had taken residence in.

It wasn't till later that Shirou and Arturia left to obtain some timber to be used later for a fire on the instructions of Kay.

Walking along silently, Shirou absently stared at the brisk pace Arturia was setting in front of him. Unknowingly, it had been quite a long time since the two of them had been in each other's company without any pressing circumstances. Therefore, he took the time to carefully watch her.

From the child she once was, she had grown significantly over the past years, her stature, although not tall, seeming to possess a certain dignity to it that couldn't be overlooked. Her once rounded features had now also become sleek and refined, but do to the necessity of hiding her gender, she always masked it away behind a thin layer of dirt and grime.

Currently, she was in plain attire so as to not stand out as much.

They talked about mundane things as they went. From training, to recent experiences, the two just seemed to become lost in their own conversations. The talking though seemed to pause abruptly as the matter of the Sword in the Stone was brought up due to a passing comment from a stranger.

Shaking her head, Arturia smiled faintly before pushing the matter aside.

Shirou did not oppose such a thing. The Sword in the Stone was where it all began. The Legend of King Arthur.

Right now, though, what mattered most for him was how to gather more support on Arturia's side. Despite having famed Knights such as Lancelot, Gawain, and even Percival in her Round Table, Camelot had still fallen, and a tragedy had occurred.

Talents.

That was precisely what he needed, or perhaps another power?

With his standing alone, he could not do anything. Even with his apparent title as an Ashton, there were too many uncertainties with using that title to garner recognition. Instead he would have to build his own step by step.

Watching Arturia point and stare at the various odd and exciting merchandise being sold in the markets, he soon thought back to the offer of Baron Barwheld as he smiled.

_Ride with me._

It was an invitation to join into Baron Barwheld's ranks. Of course, he would have to start as a foot soldier and work his way up using merits, but by achieving said merits, his fame would rise far more rapidly. A story of Knights and war can spread far faster to the people than the reputation of a blacksmith. Thus, accordingly, so too would his influence.

He thought more on the matter, and concluded that it could indeed help him in his cause. That, and Baron Barwheld can help him adjust to the current politics, letting him know Arturia's friends from her potential enemies.

"What's this?" Arturia asked, meticulously inspecting, from what Shirou could see, was an object made of ivory

Arturia did not get out much from Bristol, and had dedicated most of her life to the way of the sword. From the looks of the current market they were in, it was highly likely that the product What Arturia was inspecting in her hand was an import of some kind.

Trade was an essential part of society that even existed during Roman rule of Britain. Not only did it spread the culture of the various countries, but it also brought about ambitions and desires to obtain more items. This was why trade posts still existed at such a time.

Taking the piece from Arturia's hand, he began to explain what he knew of it using structural analysis, before reminding her of their intended purpose. Quickly nodding her head, she retained the bearings of a calm, cool, and collected individual.

Based on her age of nearly fifteen summers now, her acts of maturity actually made her look younger in people's eyes as it appeared that she was trying too hard. A squire who had yet to face the difficulties of the world, yet remaining proud all the same.

Shirou only shook his head.

It wasn't long until the two eventually reached their destination, a small wooden home that was really more of a hut.

At the front sat a man who was tiredly lazing away.

As soon as the two approached, the man turned a careful eye on them before grunting dismissively after a moment.

"An Ashton, and the youngest of Sir Ector," the man spoke before getting up from his chair, and directly acquiring an armful of timber for trade.

Both Shirou and Arturia were completely caught by surprise. It wasn't because of the man's actions, but rather the shock factor of what the man had just revealed.

It was quite odd that a man of Roan would know of Sir Ector of Bristol. What was far more shocking though was how this man seemed to know he was an Ashton. Apart from a select few people, no one knew that Shirou was an Ashton.

"Who are you?" Shirou asked. From his memory, he could not remember a man quite like this.

The man shrugged. "A simple trader," was all that was spoken. "We trade and go about our days to make ends meet, and from time to time listen to the few stories that come from wandering soldiers."

Arturia's expression slightly relaxed after hearing that explanation. After all, Sir Ector was currently out looking for the famed Wizard. It would only be natural that people within Roan would know of him as he went about on his search.

"That's not quite all, is it?" Shirou asked, watching the minute movements of the man.

The man narrowed his eyes, and then grinned.

"Truly, the young-in possessed a keen eye for people," the man ascertained.

"Wait, what?" Arturia had to question.

Moments earlier she had just believed the man's explanation, but now Shirou had deduced that there was something more in the man's words?

Her eyes narrowing, she asked coolly. "Who are you?"

The man's gaze shifted from Shirou to Arturia, assessing her quietly. She stood tall and resolute, her expression not once glancing away from the man's hard stare as she waited for an answer.

"Good courage," the man spoke as he decided to hand over the timber for free. "But not suitable."

The man's gaze then fell back on Shirou.

"You, however, are different," the man calmly spoke. "Think of the timber as a small gift, and take some time to consider a proposition."

Shirou raised a brow.

"You as well have courage, but I can also tell that you're not set into traditional beliefs," the man stated. "Therefore, you have a chance at fitting in. Your skill with a blade is only a secondary matter."

Shirou wasn't surprised that the man would have had heard about the most recent event, so he didn't pay much attention to the latter matter. As for the matter of not following traditional beliefs, he could accept that without any thought. He was never a Knight, and he was most certainly not a normal magus. What he did pay attention to was the implications of the second comment.

Was he being recruited into some kind of group? And if so, should he at least hear the man out.3

Noticing Shirou's expression, the man only gave a small smile as a dull thudding sound echoed out from behind the hut.

Turing their gazes, they all saw a young man who wore nothing but long rags around his waist, his torso bare.

It was the swordsman at the start of the Young Blade's competition. The one who had failed to garner entry.

"That's just the youngin," the man spoke. "But in regards to previous matters, you may indeed have what it takes."

"For what exactly?" Shirou inquired.

He couldn't help but be particularly intrigued. He had never encountered something like this in his past life, nor in his memories. Thinking on such a fact, his mood immediately took a blow as he realized that he did indeed encounter a similar situation. In regards to that, they were swindlers attempting to lead him on. Still, just like then, his morals prevented him from just instantly refusing.

"The youngin will explain," was all the man said, directing their attention back to the swordsman from the Young Blade's competition who had arrived just before them.

Based on the swordsman's physic and features, he was roughly in his late teens or in his twenty's.

The swordsman grunted, and then promptly remembered what had happened previously. "Is your companion alright?" he asked bluntly.

The companion the swordsman was referring to was the Son of Wolfred who had previously stood up for the swordsman, and even blocked a surprise attack in his behalf.

Upon hearing, what the swordsman had asked, Arutria's expression somewhat darkened. After all, the injury the Son of Wolfred had sustained was taken on her behalf. How could she not feel guilty or uncomfortable whenever she thought about the issue.

Rather than change his expression, Shirou just replied calmly. "He'll be fine," he said.

"Good," the swordsman nodded before his gaze became a tad more serious. "To be frank, I was actually intending on looking for you. Coincidentally, it was you who came to me."

"Then what were you looking for me for?" Shirou asked.

The swordsman looked back and forth before motioning with his hands. "Come, this is not the place to talk," he said.

Leading, the swordsman walked them through a winding trail of buildings and fields, before eventually ending up at a market of sorts by a building used for animal pens.

On the way, Arturia had had to reposition the timber in her hands numerous times as the pieces would shift after every turn. Shirou had insisted on his help, but Artuira had adamantly refused.

This was why when they stopped moving, only Arturia seemed to have worked out a minor sweat, a thin sheen covering her skin.

As it would turn out, their destination was in fact at a location secretly within the building used for animal pens.

From where they were standing, they could hear all sorts of sounds made by various animals that would probably end up traded at a certain point.

Walking slowly, the swordsman led them towards a small opening within the building located at its eastern face.

It was at this point that the swordsman spoke. "The squire stays," he said simply as he opened the way into the building.

Arturia did not look happy upon hearing such words, and neither was Shirou.

The swordsman sighed before explaining. "It's not that I have any prejudice against your friend, but others that come here from time to time do," he said.

In which case, it wouldn't exactly be safe.

Understanding the situation, Arturia reluctantly agreed to wait outside as Shirou followed the swordsman in.

Upon entering, Shirou could see that the building was, in fact, not a building meant to house animal pens, but instead used that notion as a front. What lay within was a spacious room with numerous men possessing varying degrees of apparel. Some good quality, and others quite low like the swordsman who wore nothing over his chest.

"What is this place?" Shirou ended up asking.

"Well, first let me introduce myself," the swordsman spoke, breaking his calm looking exterior as he broke into a smile. "My name is Brian, and I'm a mercenary, a sword for hire."

Mercenary?

Shirou's brows furrowed.

In the times of Medieval Britain, mercenaries, for local Lords and Kings were tantamount to taking a huge gamble.

The warrior brothers Hengist and Horsa were a prime example. The both of them had not originated from Britain, but had come from overseas and were employed by the then in power Vortigern to assist in defeating the invading Picts. Although the warrior brothers were successful, it was they who brought about the start of the invasion of the Saxons, Jutes, and Angles."

Still though, it couldn't be neglected that the number of mercenaries far outweighed those of knights. If he was able to mobilize, and trust them enough to aid Arturia in her endeavors, he could imagine what sort of boons that sort of situation would bring.

"Those men over there are the ones who accept any kind of mission, including even assassinations," the swordsman pointed out to people in the room as he continued speaking.

So, there were even those who would take assassinations in this room.

Shirou could now understand why the swordsman had asked for Arturia to stay outside. Knowing her values and principles, she would not associate well with people in here. Then again, neither would he so long as one didn't cross his bottom line.

"If you're wondering how we got yours and the blond's information, it would be because of those brothers over there," the swordsman pointed to a group of men idly chatting while drinking down large mouthfuls of beer. "They may not look it, but they hold a pretty extensive network of information."

Shirou's eyes brightened upon hearing that.

In his past life, he had grown to know the importance of what good information could bring. It could be the difference between a successful mission and a failed one. Knowing the enemy's movements before even planning one's own. It was how Rin had helped him complete some of the missions he had received as an Enforcer with the church.

Due to the fact that all that he knew of the people and events around Arturia were based off of her own memory, it couldn't be helped that there were large instances where he was left with a blank. However, if he could accurately gather information on the current status of things, it could help him prepare for future hurdles.

At this point, it wouldn't be a lie to say that he was somewhat interested in what Brian was going to propose.

"As for your first question of what this place is, I suppose we can be considered to be a sort of Guild like those merchants," the swordsman said. "As for your qualifications for being here, well; I suppose there's no need to explain it to you now."

Shirou could understand Brian's reasoning. He wasn't a part of the group yet. There was no need to waste resources on only a potential candidate.

Grinning, Brian asked simply as he noticed the intrigued look on Shirou's face. "Then what would you say to agreeing to an entry test?" He asked.

* * *

Arturia was feeling a tad flustered at the moment, but she held back her indignation behind crossed arms, and kept her composure.

It didn't really matter if she was interested or not. If she was not invited, she would not needlessly enter on a whim. She wasn't the kind of woman to lose control after a slight against her after all. However, like all adolescent youth, patience was something she still had to work on.

Fidgeting, her eyes wandered as her fingers tapped against her arm.

The people around her were simply going about their day. Some talking, and others whispering amongst themselves as they pointed at her spending her time by the animal stalls.

Her face coloured in mortification when a piglet waddled up to her and gave her a quick oink.

For a moment, she entertained the idea of lecturing the swordsman about not keeping their headquarters at such an obscure location, yet she knew that she would only get laughed at if she did so.

It would sound too much like a child's whining to be of any particular use than to make a fool of herself.

Sighing, all that she could do was continue to wait.

After the genuine curiosity of the people observing her dissipated, Arturia was then simply ignored. However, because of this, she was able to silently observe the hidden actions of the people walking about without being overly noticed.

Generally, people are somewhat reluctant to reveal their true thoughts and actions.

For example, one of the people Arturia had just watched walk by had talked to a friend with a wide grin, before glaring at said friend's back as the distance between them grew further apart.

She didn't know the reason.

Past lover, or rival, it didn't matter; only that she detested such two-faced actions.

It was after ten or so minutes that Shirou exited the building and walked up to her.

"May I ask you to go back without me?" Shirou asked after a moment of hesitation.

Arturia was a tad bewildered, but she knew that when Shirou hesitated before asking her of anything, it must be something important that he had to do. It was the same from when he decided to work at the smithy's, and it was the same now.

Although a part of her felt disappointed that their time together was cut a bit short, as a friend, how could she refuse him.

"Thank you," Shirou said before tenderly placing a hand on her shoulder. "Stay safe," he added with a nod.

For some reason, the concern in Shirou's voice caused an uplifting sort of feeling to burst forth from within Arturia. Without another word, she then left; any disappointment she may have had previously felt, fading away completely.

The way back to the tavern she and the rest were staying in was not a difficult one.

In fact, Arturia had even just recently discovered on her way to gather the timber that a long sort of building with connecting corridors could be utilized as a shortcut.

This was why she had first asked if she could enter the building, and then after getting permission, was currently walking through one of the corridors. This corridor in particular lead straight towards the tavern ten minutes after exiting the building.

As it would turn out, the building with the corridors was actually something designed by nobles to allow them easier access around the town of Roan. Built at the town's center, it made it possible to bypass the homes and other such things that would generally take a while to maneuver around.

Walking slowly, she tried to get her mind off of what it was Shirou was currently getting involved in. However, due to her own curiosity, she could not. Still, her principles would not allow her to change her decisions now.

It was then that she noticed a youth approaching from just in front of her.

The youth had long slicked-back black hair that reached around the top of his shoulder blades. His face was also narrow with a visible ridge of his nose. The rest of his body was covered in black leathers, making it difficult to discern his body type, but it was easy to see the healthy condition of his body.

What had caught Arturia's attention about the youth though, was that the youth seemed to be frowning at her.

Walking towards each other, it wouldn't take long before the two of them would meet.

Just around a meter away, the youth paused and spoke.

"My name is Agravain," the youth gave out his name curtly as one should in first encounters.

This gave Arturia a favourable impression of the youth despite the youth having been glaring at her.

About to return the introduction, Arturia's words caught in her mouth as Agravain continued.

"And you are in my way," he said.

Furrowing her brows, Arturia stared coldly at Agravain. Based on the surroundings alone, it was clear that Agravain could have just walked past her. She wasn't exactly taking up the majority of the corridor, or at least she didn't think so.

Agravain sighed seeing the expression on Arturia's face, her eyes narrowed, and face impeccably calm. It was almost unnerving as Arturia's features seemed to overlap with a woman he utterly loathed. Perhaps that was why he had even dained to open his mouth to meaninglessly antagonize while out on the field.

Still though, Agravain was smart enough to know when to concede and when to push forward. This was one of those times where he had acted on impulse, and as such he knew his course of action.

"Apologies then fellow Squire, may you now please grant way? I am in a bit of a hurry at the moment," Agravain spoke courteously, making it difficult for anyone of noble standing to deny his request.

Indeed, Arturia nodded, feeling internally surprised as she didn't expect such a hard-looking youth to admit his own faults. Feeling as if she had accomplished something, she smiled faintly while giving way to Agravain despite the general width of the corridor being just enough for the two to slide past one another.

The matter dealt with, Arturia proceeded on her way after re-positioning the timber in her arms.

From there, it didn't take long before she eventually arrived back, explaining to the rest that Shirou had some matters to attend to.


	20. Chapter 20

When Shirou returned later in the day, he came back with a neutral expression, and Arturia was the first to greet him as she was training outside of the tavern.

Smiling, he and Arturia then made their way to the room the others were staying in inside the tavern.

The tavern that they were staying in was well established, and although it was built long ago, the owner had never neglected to forget maintenance. Logs that grew even a small patch of mold were replaced by new material, and should a leak ever occur during rain, repairs were made by packing mud. The general size of the tavern as well was relatively similar to the other log and brick based buildings of Roan.

Upon arriving at the entrance of the room, he saw that apart from the bags, the others were nowhere to be found.

Arturia scrunched her face, before coming up with an explanation. "Kay and Bors may have taken them to the back for practice," she said. She herself had been training at the front.

Shirou considered the explanation, and it was indeed reasonable. It was always good to practice, and even if the Son of Wolfred was injured, he would probably rather spectate than wallow away within the room. On the topic of the injury, he didn't even need to hesitate over his next actions. The next time he was alone with the Son of Wolfred, he would do what he could for him and attempt to heal his injury.

Placing their belongings away and changing out of their armour, the two found a place to sit by the fire. Some of the timber Arturia had collected was stacked atop the hearth with a few of the pieces being used to fuel the flame.

A gentle heat spread out across their faces, the warmth of the fire causing a primitive sort of fascination to flicker within Arturia's eyes. However, she couldn't hide the way she sighed when she subconsciously did it.

"Is there something wrong?" He asked, placing whatever he had on his mind on the side. After all, when compared to keeping Arturia happy, they would all be trivial matters at most.

She seemed to straighten her back after he voiced his question. Letting out her breath, her body sunk in on itself before she puffed her chest up and put on a cheery smile.

"What makes you think anything's wrong?" She asked a moment after collecting herself.

He gave her a critical eye, and instead of replying, he thought over her current situation. Even if he possessed the memories of Saber, he didn't necessarily understand what she was going through and feeling during those times.

Subconsciously, his fingers began to tap against the hard surface of the wooden floor, catching Arturia's eye and causing her brows to furrow.

"It's just a feeling," he ended up admitting.

"Then," Arturia turned towards him, her expression curious. "What do you feel about a joust to decide a King?"

He took a moment to consider.

To be a King was to lead the people, and to be the head of all decisions whether important or mundane. If such a position was decided solely on the ability of one's jousting skill, then what kind of consequences would that bring?

Over the course of the day, there was word of the Joust competition being moved forward ahead of schedule, but there was also protest to the idea by some of the other noble families in Roan. Regardless, such news must have reached Arturia's ears. Add to the fact that she hadn't admitted to him yet that she was planning on being King, and her troubles became apparent to him.

She was concerned that a King would be placed into power before she herself could attempt for the position. The concern was only made worse when the Vernier family wanted to push the joust forward at an earlier date.

"I feel that it is too impulsive," he said slowly. "A King is not decided by the advantage of a single ability, but in the ideology of how he governs his people."

Arturia opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off with a sentence of his own.

"The good King Uther did not entrust the Kingdom to any successor, rather, his hopes were placed on a single sword," he said.

Arturia's posture was unnaturally straight, her head absently nodding after hearing his words. "Whoever draws this sword from the stone, is the true King of Britain," she whispered. Her eyes then moved to scan over him, a resolution appearing within her eyes as if she had come to a decision.

"Do you know when they have decided the time for the joust?" She asked.

"At most, three years, the least being only two," he concluded after sorting through the knowledge he had beforehand.

Presently, word had not spread of an exact time for the joust as various other matters were taking precedence: The defense of the Saxon invasion, the Jutes, and Angles. The lands were in turmoil, making it difficult to organize anything. Yet somehow, the Joust to decide the King was still pushed forward sometime during the timeline. This was why he could only give an estimate of around two or three years.

The expression on Arturia's face didn't particularly brighten after hearing his words, but it did grow more determined.

Turning his gaze away from her, he peered outside the window, and looked towards the weather outside.

It was beginning to rain, large dark clouds forming overhead that occasionally flashed with streaks of white. The wind was also beginning to pick up, causing the leaves of trees to flutter and long grass to sway.

This was the weather that two men stepped into the tavern and towards the room he and Arturia were currently staying in.

They were Sir Ector, and the most renowned Wizard in Britain, Merlin.

The first time he had met Merlin, he was going under the moniker of Nilrem. Far from being deceived by it, he had been able to easily see through it. He could understand that he was only able to do so because he was able to read and write, and such a thing could be difficult for those who could not. Still, the one matter he could not understand was why Merlin had decided not to give his real name.

"Sir Ector, Nilrem," he spoke calmly as the two stepped into the room.

Arturia's reaction was not as calm as she couldn't stop herself from standing up in shock. From what Sir Ector had said, it was going to take some time before they could locate Merlin, yet here he was. Even if she had only met the man a few times, the impression Merlin had left on her was not one that would fade so easily.

On the other hand, Sir Ector was giving Merlin a questioning look.

"Nilrem?" Sir Ector asked.

Merlin coughed into his hand. "Forget it, forget it," he waved off, not explaining anything. "What matters is that we should redo our introductions. My name is Merlin," Merlin spoke.

"A pleasure," he replied with a wry smile.

Introductions done, Merlin then turned his sole attention on Arturia. "You've grown," is all that he said before eyeing her up and down, pausing over her chest and hip areas. "In more ways than one."

Arturia's face coloured before she spluttered out in outrage. Only she would know how difficult it was becoming to wrap bandages around herself and wear a heavy leather skirt beneath her armour to mask her physique.

Merlin only hummed in the face of Arturia's indignant anger. It was, of course, not on the level of some of the other women he had been with. Rather than insult, he was warier of injury. To this regard, he knew that Arturia's disposition prevented her from physically assaulting him to a point, thus he just wouldn't cross that bottom line.

To Merlin, wooing women was like playing with fire. After all, it was in his blood. He was part Incubus on his father's side, a phantasmal beast that lies upon women, and was naturally inclined to pursue beautiful women. It couldn't be helped that he would sometimes lose himself in such activities, but he still had half a mind to prioritize different matters and recognize different variables.

Merlin's eyes glanced towards Shirou.

"Is there anything you need?" Shirou asked after crossing his arms.

"Oh, nothing of the sort boy, just curious is all. One could hardly hold my attention for too long after all," Merlin replied, his gaze setting firmly on the pouch that contained the Ashton inheritance stone that Baron Barwheld had given.

"Except for a woman," Sir Ector muttered gruffly.

Merlin smiled at Sir Ector. "Delicate creatures are what they are, hard to forget and easy to draw comfort from."

"Delicate, are we?" Arturia's brow twitched. "Perhaps you'd help test this sword of mine?"

Merlin laughed. "Girl, you are too naïve to believe that I would fall for such traps. Rather I believe it's time we moved on to the important matters," he said.

"Indeed," Sir Ector spoke, taking off his armour and placing on something more comfortable before facing Arturia. "I have trained you for the majority of your life. Integrity, honour, judgement, I have made sure to teach it all to you. At this point, after discussing a few matters with Merlin, there is not much else left to teach."

Arturia froze, her eyes appearing disbelieving as Sir Ector's words caught up with her mind. "Y-You mean," she stuttered out.

"Indeed, it is time that you welcome me as your new mentor," Merlin spoke as he stepped forward.

Arturia ignored him, eyes never leaving Sir Ector's. This caused a twitch to form over Merlin's brow. If one were to look at Merlin's reputation alone, no one should have had been able to disregard him so easily.

"S-Sir Ector, please reconsider. I have not yet learned all that I can from you," Arturia argued.

Since a young age, she had always remembered the teachings Sir Ector had taught her. Like Sir Ector had mentioned before, the majority of her life was spent under his care and tutelage. The things he had done for her, they were exactly what had shaped her to be what she was today. Just the thought that she would no longer be under his mentorship caused a feeling of panic to well from within her.

If Merlin had been the one to plant the notion of her becoming the next King, then Sir Ector had been the one to nurture and support it. Without him, she couldn't imagine what it would have had been like growing up.

"Arturia, you have to understand," Sir Ector explained with a complex expression. "It's true that I have yet to teach you all that I know, but Merlin is far more suited to be teaching you."

"Him?" Arturia's eyes scanned over Merlin, pausing over the nonchalant air the man seemed to exude.

True, Merlin was known to be the greatest Wizard across the land, and was also known to possess a plethora of information, but in terms of character, he could never beat Sir Ector.

Arturia's eyes only stayed on Merlin for a moment before she went back to pestering Sir Ector about reconsidering. This caused the normally carefree Merlin to frown before glaring at Sir Ector with a wronged expression.

"Will you not at least consider it, Arturia?" Sir Ector asked.

"I already have," Arturia spoke calmly. "Perhaps at a later point, it would be more appropriate," she said.

Merlin crossed his arms. "Ungrateful child, I hope you won't regret it when I take this boy under me."

Shirou who had been remaining silent for the majority of the conversation couldn't help but become somewhat dumbstruck as Merlin wrapped an arm around him and placed him as a shield in front of Arturia.

"Y-You can't do that," Arturia protested, her eyes narrowing. "He's also a student of Sir Ector."

It had went unspoken for the number of years both he and Arturia had spent in Bristol, that Arturia would view him as a fellow comrade under the leadership of Sir Ector. Whenever Arturia trained with Sir Ector, Shirou would be nearby and similarly receive instruction.

Not only that, but on top of Sir Ector's teaching, Shirou had also trained, and trained with, Arturia, helping her fix her short comings. For Merlin to suddenly decide to take him away from Sir Ector's teachings, to her, it was like a thief stealing away something precious.

Merlin's eyes gleamed. He did not believe that the matter would escalate to such a level, but he couldn't deny that it was quite entertaining when compared to a quick affair. Moreover, he did harbor some interest towards this particular child. Just from a glance the moment they had first, he could tell that he was a magus like himself. Thus, he could be useful if molded correctly.

"If you don't like it," Merlin began. "You could join us?"

Arturia pursed her lips before deciding to compromise.

"I'll join, but, I still want Sir Ector to continue training us," she laid down her bottom line.

"Silly child, since when did I say that I would stop training you?" Sir Ector spoke. "All that I have proposed is for you to begin training with Merlin. Of course, that would mean you'd train less with me, but it doesn't mean all training with me will stop."

Understanding, Arturia then stopped protesting Sir Ector's decisions. It was only Shirou who was left at a loss. For starters, he had not even voiced any form of agreement, and yet, like always, he was manhandled into the situation.

"Good then, it's all settled," Merlin spoke before making himself comfortable and drawing the eyes of everyone present. "What?" He ended up asking.

"You're staying here?" Arturia asked skeptically.

"Well, why not. I'll be teaching you both for the time being anyway, and who am I to ever shy away from staying near a lady, even a growing one; not to touch, but plenty content to stare at."

Arturia glowered at Merlin, knowing exactly who it was he was referring to. However, to her surprise, it was Shirou who had acted discreetly and nearly cut apart the leg of the chair Merlin was about to sit on.

Regardless though, it did not have its desired effect as Merlin sat on it with a provocative gaze. "It takes more than that to fool a Wizard," he said.

"Then what about the other one?"

"Other one?" Merlin said slowly, feeling the sudden shift in his weight.

"Yes, the other one."

* * *

It was early in the following morning that Sir Ector instructed both Shirou and Arturia to follow Merlin to some location for training. Merlin nursing a bruise on his forehead and an ache on his tailbone as he lead the way.

As it would turn out, the reason for the absence of Palamid, Kay, Bors, Emily, and the others was due to Gerrard and Charles who had dragged them along towards another matter. Either way, the group of them had only returned recently, and had yet to meet Merlin as they had set off early. Although, Sir Ector did manage to explain to them the situation, answering most of their questions.

"Sir Ector has let me know the exact extent of your training thus far," Merlin said to Arturia as he led them to an open plain a distance away from Roan. "Knowing this, what you lack is your understanding of what the common people call, magic."

Hearing Merlin's words, Arturia couldn't help but glance in Shirou's direction, remembering the various things he had once done before her. Merlin took note of this, but did not bring up the matter, instead, motioning for Arturia to take a seat. He then turned his attention towards Shirou.

"You are quite young," Merlin said plainly. "Now how much do you really know about magic?"

That was a hard question for Shirou to answer. To understand why, one must know that the principles of magic had been greatly weakened in the present day modern world. This was due to the emergence of technology and the development of civilization. The effect of such mysteries or magic to summon fire for example was greatly reduced since science was able to replicate the effect. In this regard, what was once magic would then be considered a mere 'craft,' thus losing many different magics in this way in the future.

"Mage craft would be more of an appropriate term," he ended up saying.

Merlin raised a brow. To him, he knew of many magics unable to be reproduced by the mortals of the area; conjuring water from the air as an example. For Shirou to use the term 'craft' in his magic, was it already something replicable? He would not forget to look into the matter. For the time being though, he needed to focus his attention on Arturia.

"How much do you trust this young man?" Merlin asked to Arturia before anything else.

"I trust him," Arturia didn't even have to think about it. To her, Shirou was… someone she believed could never be replaced.

Noting the expression on Arturia's face, Merlin could only sigh. "A flower that blooms only in one direction is no longer a flower for all," he whispered sagely.

Arturia raised a brow, causing Merlin to run a hand through his white hair. "Ignorant too, but I suppose it doesn't matter much, look here and don't ignore me, either of you," he said.

Crossing her arms, Arturia spread out her legs and leaned her back against a stone, waiting patiently for Merlin to begin. Shirou though, chose to continue standing, leaning his weight against the same rock that Arturia's back was pressed to.

"We'll first begin with you," Merlin said turning to Arturia. "Your father, King Uther-"

Arturia's eyes widened before she turned her gaze towards Shirou. "I didn't mean to hide it," she blurted out. "It was just, I couldn't find a good time to bring it up."

Shirou only shook his head before smiling, and then promptly voicing his opnion.

"Don't worry. Now, and even in the future, nothing that you do will ever offend me," he spoke seriously. It was how he truly felt. Just as a man would risk everything for his love, he was much the same. In fact, he was probably more so. In the Fuyuki fire, he had become distorted, making his views and ideals in life vastly different from the average man or magus. The fact that Arturia was able to take a place in his heart showed just how important she was to him to the point of even affecting his Reality Marble, a manifestation of one's inner world.

Arturia's mouth was opening and closing, but she couldn't find the proper words to speak, instead, she mutely turned her face away while pulling her knees to her chest.

In this regard, Merlin was the one who was left flabbergasted, staring incredulously at Shirou in equal parts admiration and dislike before composing himself.

"Like I was saying," Merlin began after Arturia steadied herself. "Your father, King Uther ordered me to grant upon you the factor of the Dragon," he said.

"What does that mean?" Arturia asked.

Instead of answering, Merlin asked a question of his own. "Did you never find it strange why you can endure longer than others? And even why that poison Sir Ector informed me of during that competition didn't affect you?"

"Wasn't that because you put magic on me the last time we met?" Arturia asked.

"The answer to that question is, no," Merlin said. "Rather, everything lies within your blood which carries the element of the Red Dragon," he explained.

The Red Dragon was a strong species of phantasmal beast that could rival even the strength of the mightiest mages and other breeds of phantasmal beasts.

"Because you possess the element of the Red Dragon, you carry its very magical power and resistance. This grants you a heart and Magic Circuits, the conduits to a mage's magic, that transcend what can be achieved by normal mortals."

Merlin presented a palm out for both Shirou and Arturia to see. Moments later, a small line of blue pattern ran up to the center of Merlin's palm that held a seed. "The ability of magic circuits is to convert the ambient mana present in the air into usable energy for the body to use," he said, and upon finishing, the seed in his hand bloomed into a flower.

"What you possess, Arturia, is something much more, a _magic core_ ," Merlin said. "If a normal magi's body could be considered a single _tool_ that creates magical energy, then your magic core is equivalent to a _workshop_ which creates magical energy. It is able to generate magical energy separate from what your body can harness simply through breathing like the phantasmal species of dragons. What you're missing, Arturia, is the key to tap into that power."

Arturia who had once had her arms crossed, was now paying rapt attention. If she could be like Shirou and utilize her own magic, perhaps to augment herself, then what did she have to fear from stronger enemies? She herself would become a force to be reckoned with.

"Then what should I do first?" Arturia asked, standing up and lightly brushing off the dirt that had collected on her clothes. "And how do I utilize magic in the first place?"

Arturia realized that Merlin was giving her a smug look. Thinking back about how she had disregarded him before, she could only humph and give the man a moment to enjoy his small victory.

"Simple," Merlin replied before waving his staff. "Just as dragons toss their young off cliffs to teach them to fly, unlocking the key to your magic will be much the same."

" _YOOUUU!_ "

Was all Arturia could yell before a branch wrapped around her leg and hoisted her six feet into the air, leaving her to dangle. No matter how much she tried to cut away at the vine entangling her leg, no damage could be seen.

"Get me down from here!" Arturia blustered, heat rising to her face as she realized just how much of an idiot she looked like right now. As the branch had only grabbed hold of one of her legs, her other one was left awkwardly falling to one side. If Kay saw such a thing, she knew he would always hold it against her, bringing it up only to tease her. What was worse was that Shirou was the one who saw it instead.

"Unfortunately, I will not let you down from there," Merlin said with a smile. "You see, that vine is not something that can be cut without utilizing the highest grade of magical energy in a single burst. The energy supplied by your magical core in a mere moment should be enough to allow you to escape the vine's hold. All that's left for you to do is to feel out for and utilize it, otherwise I'll just leave you to hang for a while."

With that said, Merlin motioned for Shirou to follow him as they both quickly left the area, Shirou giving an apologetic look towards Arturia. Although Merlin was not known widely for having a good character, Shirou did not doubt his methods in training others.

A moment later, and Merlin had lead Shirou deep into a forest.

Leaning against a tree, Merlin then spoke. "Well, my little magus friend, it appears that fate indeed would have us meet again, but I'm not one to believe in such things, but rather on certainty; knowing that you would remain by Arturia's side based off of our first conversation."

"I will have to agree with you," Shirou said. "I am not a firm believer in fate, but rather in the consequence of one's actions." If Arturia's fate was to die in the battle of Camlann, then he would reject that fate with all of his being.

"Then should you not sort out your own problems first before they catch up to you?" Merlin asked calmly. "I am part Incubus, a breed of phantasmal beast, and the blood inside me, to a small degree, appears to be reacting just by being near you," he continued. "If not for that stone you carry in your pouch, I'm afraid that others may begin to take an interest in you if not already."

After finishing his piece, Merlin sent a cold glare out in the distance, eliciting a howl to emerge from several hundred miles out.

"I'll find a way to deal with it somehow, and if anything, if it gets to that point, I would be nowhere near her," Shirou said with certainty.

Merlin shook his head. "You fail to understand the importance of your own self. What if she is the one who chooses to be near you?"

"That is," Shirou was left at a loss. He had no response to say to that.

Sighing, Merlin grasped a firm hold over his staff before taping it gently against the ground. " **I am Merlin, a half Incubus and renowned Wizard across the land. None of you are to step within fifty-miles of the human town of Roan. This Incubus here, lays temporary claim to this area. You all should understand what that means for any trespassers.** "

Merlin was speaking in the tongue of phantasmal beasts, and using his staff to transmit his words across a far radius. What was strange though was that Shirou could understand the language Merlin had just spoken.

"I have given you a temporary respite without alerting any other phantasmal beast's interest," Merlin spoke to Shirou after a moment. "So long as you stay within Roan, you should be safe for the time being."

"You have my thanks." Shirou bowed his head.

"You shouldn't thank me, but rather as I have taken the liberty of guiding you, the teacher must carry a part of the student's load to a degree. Besides, I have taken a guess to what the future may bring, and you will play one of the main roles in it," Merlin spoke.

Shirou raised his head and stared questioning at Merlin. From what he knew, Merlin from a young age had been accurate in what he called his guesses to the point of them becoming prophecies. He had even foretold of the conflict between the Red Dragon and the White Dragon, representations of the ruler of Britain and the invading Saxons.

As Shioru knew without a doubt that he had already changed events in Arturia's timeline, the guesses that Merlin perceived may very well be a treasure trove to him. Thus, he was trying to see if he could get Merlin to elaborate further. Knowing what was to come was the same as already winning half of the battle.

"I can tell that you wish for me to explain further, but as time would have it, it is better for me to first understand your capabilities. Now I know you magus bunch take considerable effort to conceal your craft in fear of others stealing it from you, but I'm different as the greatest Wizard across the land. I either have no need for them, or I already know them. That, and I don't hide away from the world like those second-rates," Merlin spoke before gesturing for him to reveal his magic.

A twitch formed over his brow before he composed himself. It was just that he didn't expect Merlin to be so boastful as the majority of the memories he shared with Saber simply portrayed him as a womanizer which definitely wasn't wrong in any regard. However, he was feeling a tad upset about how Merlin had side-lined his interest in elaborating Merlin's guesses. To be fair, it was probably because of the earlier incident in the tavern, but could the man truly be that petty? Perhaps he could bring Merlin down from his high horse if he showed him something shocking enough?

He knew for a fact that Merlin would not disclose the events of his guesses anytime soon, but he also knew that if thee Merlin was teaching him, then he shouldn't waste the opportunity either.

"Trace, on," the set incantation that he had always used to focus himself came out again at the moment where he stretched out his arms and opened his palms.

Merlin stared with a bit of thinly concealed interest before placing a hand beneath his chin. "Gradation Air," he spoke dismissively.

Gradation Air, which would later be known as Projection is a magic that materializes objects in accordance to the caster's imagination. This object created is maintained by the caster's magical energy, but will still slowly fade away over time as it is recognized as a phantasm that doesn't belong in the natural world. Furthermore, since the material created is based off the imagination of its caster, the durability of the object is compromised. This is due to the fact that most magi do not have a firm understanding or blueprint to what it is that they creating from nothing. In short, the better imagined an object created is, the longer it would last within the world.

Observation done, Merlin simply waited for the projected object in Shirou's hand to fade after its completion. After all, he had already seen another mage utilize the same craft before, and just like Shirou, he had been in the process of projecting a sword.

Still, what Merlin didn't know was the difference between Shirou and the other magus. The other magus did not have a firm understanding of the mechanics of forging a sword, its hilt and pommel coming out deformed. Even more than that, the difference in their mage craft was leagues apart, for Shirou practiced his own variant of Gradation Air he called Tracing.

The eyes that had once looked dismissively at the sword forming in Shirou's hand suddenly widened. "N-Noble phantasm!?" Merlin's hand fell down back by his side, his face one of disbelief.

This was how ground breaking it was for a Noble Phantasm to appear. In all the magus families Merlin had ever visited, perhaps only the Fraga were able to confidently produce one. Even if he considered himself the greatest Wizard across the lands, he had to admit that one mistake could cost him dearly in the face of a Noble Phantasm based on its rank: Some able to decimate entire worlds, others armies, and even a few that can kill with a hundred percent certainty.

Within moments, the sword in Shirou's hand solidified, revealing its true splendor. It was a long and pristine blade with a small inscription of 'Victory' etched on a small plank just above the hilt and set firmly on the shaft of the blade. A red ornament jewel was set in the middle of the gold-coloured hilt, with the pommel decorated in a lavish blue.

Upon completion, the sword thrummed with magical energy, releasing a mana projectile after a mere swing of Shirou's hand.

Merlin may not have had been alive when that sword had once been taken and lost on the battlefield, but he knew of its owner from the texts he had studied. The Warrior Leader of the Iceni, Queen Boudica who lead a rebellion with the other Kings of the land against Roman occupation within Britain.

"The Sword Without Promised Victory," Shirou spoke solemnly, unleashing a barrage of mana projectiles that decimated the nearby surroundings.

It was a sword that carried the principle of 'Victory,' yet it was not the same as a holy sword of the planet, rather it was merely an imperfect sword of wishes. Its owner had still met with overwhelming defeat at the hands of Roman occupation.

Its legend though, still lives on.

Merlin quietly pondered to himself, staring at the Noble Phantasm in Shirou's hand. Shirou had used Gradation Air to form the Noble Phantasm out of nothing, and yet it did not appear as if there were any deformities in the blade's make. In fact, although he could determine that the blade was slightly inferior to the original, everything about it was perfect without a doubt. If Shirou could create true Noble Phantasms just through Gradation Air, how many Noble Phantasms could he truly make, and to what variety? He was left at a loss thinking up to this point.

"T-That's enough for now," Merlin stuttered in his disbelief. Realizing this, he couldn't help but furrow his brows and cough into his hand to play it off.

Nodding his head, Shirou laid aside the sword in his hand, and stood waiting for Merlin's instruction.

Rather than talking, Merlin first went and inspected the sword Shirou had created, picking it up with one hand and bringing it closer to his face. Just as Merlin had expected, the sword was truly on the caliber of a Noble Phantasm. He turned an eye towards Shirou and reassessed his initial evaluation of the boy. This kind of magic was truly too shocking. Could this magic really be considered a mere 'craft,' able to be reproduced by other magi and mortals? It would be too much of a joke to say otherwise. No other magus he had ever known could seamlessly recreate Noble Phantasms as easily as Shirou had if not at all. In fact, his mind drew a blank when he tried matching it to the First Magic. Shaking his head, he then gave his evaluation.

"This must be some superior variant of Gradation Air," Merlin said with a hint of uncertainty only he knew it contained. "From the looks of you, you don't appear quite tired yet?"

Shirou nodded. "If we used the sword I just created as a basis, I should be good to create a few dozen more if I use my energy sparingly," he admitted.

Merlin swallowed, his mouth going a tad dry, but at least he had confirmed something. The Noble Phantasm Shirou had traced was not the only one in his possession. He realized then that it could be a great boon to pull such a young and impressionable magus over to his and Arturia's side. If anything, he could count it as a good deed towards the kingdom of Britain for his efforts.

Carefully observing Shirou, Merlin then stretched out a hand and pressed a finger on the Ashton magic crest inscribed on the black leathers Shirou wore. A dim light shone from it before entering Shirou's body. "How many can you make now?" Merlin asked.

Shirou's eyes widened feeling the influx of magical energy. If before he could just slightly tap into the power of the magic crest within the Ashton armour, now he could freely access it. He took a moment to ponder Merlin's question, and realized that he had become floored with the answer.

Merlin only smiled. "For the longest time after I first saw that crest, I knew it was familiar, and now it seems that I was correct. Still though, it is not yet time for you to know of its significance until you can mature first," he stated.

Shirou could only nod for the moment to such words. Even if he was curious about what Merlin knew, it was best not to force an answer as one could never be sure of the authenticity.

Merlin inspected the sword Shirou had traced for a moment longer before wordlessly handing it back.

"This projection could even last longer than a day, maybe even a week, and the boy had said he could make plenty more of these if he used his magic sparingly? Then how long would one last if he was heedless of magical consumption?" Merlin murmured quietly to himself so only he could hear it.

In the modern times that Shirou was accustomed to, his projections, though unimaginably perfected, would still only last a couple hour, a day at most. This was due to the influence of the earth undoing the objects that were not natural to the world. Yet one would have to know, in the present time Shirou found himself in, that influence was substantially less. Add in the fact that the better made a projection was, the longer it would remain.

"Is there any other magic that you know of?" Merlin asked Shirou curiously.

"Alteration," Shirou spoke, presenting the sword in front of him and twisting it to become more arrow-like. "And I know an odd rune or two," he finished.

"Nothing else?" Merlin asked. "Even the few basics? Elemental magic?"

Shirou shook his head to all of Merlin's inquires, causing him to frown as a magus should have the capability to manipulate at least one of the elements. This was due to an elemental affinity.

"If anything, I'm a third-rate magus, and a second-rate at best. I'm more towards practical applications of mage craft anyway," Shirou explained.

Merlin grunted. _A third-rate with the ability to create Noble Phantasms?_ Such a notion was just unbelievable, but perhaps there was a reason for such things.

Merlin had never had children, nor was he ever going to be passing down his own magic to an heir of any sort, or at least he didn't plan to as of yet. Still though, he knew the procedures of how a magus family would raise an heir. At the very least, the basic principles of magic would be taught from a young age, yet Shirou, despite being a magus himself, did not know of them.

Thinking more on the matter, it was then that he remembered something fundamentally important for a magus and even one teaching a magus.

"Tell me child, what is your origin magic?" Merlin asked curiously.

The origin of a mage is not only the point that defines their existence, but it would also determine one's actions through life. It was not consciously done, but leaning more towards a natural instinct that one could not possibly avoid. Thus, if a mage knew their origin, they would not have to waste their time on other mage craft and instead specialize on a specific. Shirou didn't even take a moment to consider his answer after Merlin asked his question.

He already knew it.

"Sword," was all he said, causing Merlin's features to blank.

In terms of Origin, there were some magi with an exceptional outwardly expressed Origin. Such a thing would allow a magus to potentially reach higher grounds than normal magi.

After all, it was what one would call,

A specialist.

* * *

Omake: A Princess in hiding.

Palamid was currently alone walking in the direction of the tavern on his way back from the matter Charles and Gerrard had dragged him into, a grimace over his face. He had gone only for the sole purpose that Gerrard had mentioned that he may know something that could help heal the Son of Wolfred to make him feel better. Little did he and everyone else in the group know that Gerrard would lead them into a brothel.

He had been fortunate enough to realize what was happening just in time as he had heard stories of such places from his Knight brothers back in the old training quarters. In which case, he had left immediately before Gerrard could wrap an arm around him. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the rest. Even Bors was not an exception, but he was sure that he and the rest would survive to make their way back.

As a knight, Palamid would not involve himself with such business, but rather, he would much prefer devoting himself to a single woman.

Walking into the tavern, he realized that the smell of the brothel was clinging to him, making him feel a sense of revulsion towards his current attire. Even his current helmet had a peculiar scent stuck to his visor.

His face scrunched up.

He would definitely be washing his current clothes thoroughly at a later time, but for now, he decided to change out of them.

Moving towards the rented room, he opened the door and was not surprised to see himself be the only one in the room. The rest of the group had been dragged away by Gerrard and Charles, and Shirou was out while Arthur had told him he was going out to train. As for Sir Ector, he had not seen him since he departed from the group to search for an acquaintance.

Little did Palamid know that he had arrived moments after Sir Ector and his acquaintance had a discussion with Shirou and Arturia in the room. Sir Ector had then taken Shirou and Arturia for a discussion, leaving behind only one person who left to order a drink from the waitresses at the first floor.

Still, Palamid didn't mind currently being alone, it was how he preferred it. He was tired of being reprimanded by his Knight brothers about improper behavior when changing; most telling him to watch out in case the less savory folk were to catch a glimpse of him. Still though, why should he care if another man were to see him changing? It wasn't as if he was stripping off all of his clothes, only the one's that needed to be changed.

As he removed his helmet to take off his tunic and change into something more comfortable, a man with white hair, and a similar white cloak unexpectedly stepped into the room. From the moment their gazes locked, Palamid knew that he had met the face of all trouble in his coming future.

For once in his life, he could finally understand the wisdom in his Knight brother's words.

Trying to put his helmet back on, Palamid was unable to as the man was suddenly holding his hand.

"Beautiful dove, never have I met a flower as delicate and elegant as you," the man spoke, his eyes shining as a rose slipped into one of his hands. "Will you do me the honours, and allow this noble man to tour you around the lively town of Roan?"

"Release me now, or I will behead you!" Palamid couldn't help but scream, realizing that the man's face was drawing closer and closer to his own. Hell, he could even tell that the man was taking the opportunity to catch his scent which admittedly still smelled like the brothels: rich lavenders and lilacs.

After smelling such a scent, the look in the man's eyes could not be any more frightening to Palamid who immediately attempted to retreat, but was unable to as the man had somehow wrapped an arm around his waist. " _Y-You!_ "

"Now now, is that any way for a lady to act?" The man laughed good naturedly.

"Buzz off, I'm a man!" Palamid said before delivering a head-but and forcing the man back.

"Y-You are not a woman?" the man asked dazed, ignoring the small bruise forming on his head.

"Of course not," Palamid replied, breathing heavily from the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

A troubled look appeared over the man's face, his eyes appearing to glow with a mysterious light that made Palamid feel as if he was naked. Moments later, the man's face seemed to be conveying his denial as he muttered quietly to himself.

"T-This just won't do. Are you sure you're not a woman?" The man asked, growing serious.

"Yes, I am not a woman," Palamid spoke coldly, crossing his arms.

The man did something strange at that moment, completely eluding Palamid's senses, and leaving him dazed and unable to do anything as the man _did_ something to him. When he finally came to, the man was standing in front of him with a small smile on his face as if he had just done the world its largest favour.

Opening his mouth, the man asked.

"What about now?"


	21. Chapter 21

The closing of Merlin's mouth was what ended the silence between the two, but it was evident that numerous thoughts were currently filtering through his mind.

Of course, Shirou didn't have the ability to know, and just observed as Merlin squared his shoulders and let out a breath.

"You are a handful," Merlin spoke with a deadpan expression before shaking his head. "Yet knowing your origin of Sword will help me in training you."

Shirou nodded, and waited patiently for Merlin to continue.

In the silence, screams of frustration could be heard not too far off in the distance. A small amused smile appeared over Shirou's lips, knowing just whose frustrated yells those were coming from.

Merlin just seemed to ignore it all, contemplating quietly to himself before coming to his own answer.

"Is that magecraft truly projection?" Merlin asked after a moment.

Shirou nodded before explaining further. "It's a higher level of projection I call Tracing which allows me to replicate any weapon I have ever seen to near perfection."

Merlin once again fell silent before choosing to refrain from asking about anymore of Shirou's magic. If he had, he wouldn't begin to be able to describe the type of headache he'd feel after knowing Shirou's ability with reinforcement and his subsequent use of it.

What Merlin focused on at the moment was the 'Tracing' Shirou had spoken of. Immediately he was able to pinpoint the problem involved with this magecraft.

Consumption.

To create Noble Phantasms from nothing, and even maintaining and utilizing said Noble Phantasm's inherent abilities, there was no doubt that it must be taxing to one's reserves.

This however, was what troubled Merlin. If he could just somehow find a way to increase Shirou's supply of magical energy, then whom from the Witch's side would be able to withstand the might of numerous Noble Phantasms? He could already picture how devastated the Witch would be upon learning such news. Even he himself would have some trouble against a Noble Phantasm, but he wasn't worried as he had more than a single means to obtain victory in a confrontation. Besides, even if Shirou could create Noble Phantasms and replicate their abilities, it didn't mean that Shirou would know how to use them. Merlin comforted himself with this assumption and used it as a means to supply his self-confidence.

Now onto the matter at hand.

Magical supply and Magic Circuits.

From birth, a Magus is given a set number of Magical Circuits that cannot increase or decrease naturally. Said Magical Circuits are the entire basis on how much magical energy a Magus could contain within themselves as Magic Circuits convert life force, or Od, into magical energy. The quality and number of circuits a magus possessed would influence the entirety of one's magecraft.

Shirou for example had twenty-seven.

Yet such a number was only enough to trace a few Noble Phantasms at best before Shirou exhausted himself. Even still, it was enough to unleash his greatest magic if even for just a moment.

However, Shirou would not be revealing that type of magic anytime soon. Rather, he would use it should the situation call for it.

Merlin, not knowing any of this, simple focused on Shirou's aspect on creating Noble Phantasms.

"To create a Noble Phantasm out of nothing, it should be quite strenuous on you and your magical reserves," Merlin began.

Shirou agreed. Merlin was a renowned Magus even in his time in the early two-thousand's. It was best to be truthful to learn the most from this famous Wizard.

"What you need for this type of magic is larger reserves of energy," Merlin began, crossing his arms and frowning slightly. "It's impossible to raise the quality and quantity of one's Magic Circuits from birth naturally, but there are multiple ways."

Merlin raised a finger. "One would be a transfer between two magi through the establishment of what is called, a mystic pass. However, clearly, this option is not viable, and the risks themselves are too high," he quickly dismissed before continuing. "Another method is the bestowel of a Magic Crest. Not only do Magic Crests contain a number of Magic Circuits, but they possess the mysteries and knowledge of other magi as I'm sure you should be clear of," Merlin finished as his eyes landed on the Ashton Crest displayed on the leathers Shirou was wearing.

Shirou noticed this, and understood what Merlin was hinting at. Ever since he had first noticed the crest, he had been hesitant to assimilate it into his own body. Upon assimilation, a magus would not only have access to the Magic Circuits stored within, but the ability to also utilize the stored mysteries simply running magic through the crest. However, it was not without its dangers. Not only was absorbing a Magic Crest similar to an organ transplant, but the host had to be compatible as well lest the body undergo a rejection.

Somehow though, Shirou could feel that this Ashton Crest would not reject him. Even Efret seemed to think along these lines as it had previously shown no worries at all.

"I understand," Shirou spoke still hesitant on the matter, but no longer putting it off.

Merlin nodded his head before turning his gaze towards the direction of the sky. It was already growing dim, with clouds over head parting and revealing orange skies as the sun begun its descent. From the start of the day till the end, after Merlin had placed Arturia into her own training, he and Shirou had been discussing the finer matters of Shirou's training.

Finally, it was Merlin who finished the conversation.

"Let's bring todays matters to a close for the time being," Merlin spoke, beginning to move in the direction where the sounds of frustration had long since silenced into reserved cursing.

However, Shirou realized that this would be his only opportunity to ask a single question. He was currently alone with Merlin without any of the others around him. Thus, he could be frank.

"Wait," Shirou called, raising a hand. "There's one thing I'd like to ask you."

There had to be a reason why Merlin would invite Sir Ector and the rest to Roan at this moment four years before Shirou knew Arturia would draw Caliburn. Thinking clearly on this point, he found that Merlin had more than a single motive within Roan. The only question was, what was it? He knew from the memories he shared with Saber that it was indeed around this time that Merlin had personally taken to training Arturia for her role as King, but he had done so in Bristol.

Yet this time, Arturia's training had begun in Roan.

There were already differences in the timeline, and more and more, he was delving into unknown waters.

In the previous timeline, Merlin would indeed begin training Arturia within Bristol to not only protect her identity, but to check up on Sir Ector and Kay as well. What Shirou didn't know though, was that in the original timeline, Merlin had first spent an untold number of days in Roan before moving onto Bristol to begin training the young King. Because of this, Saber had no recollection in her memories of what Merlin had done in Roan and so was Shirou by extension.

Thus, there was only a single reason as to why Merlin would have invited Sir Ector and the rest into Roan.

It was because of a single anomaly.

And that anomaly was Shirou himself.

"Why did you bring us here?" Shirou asked.

Merlin remained stoic, a knowing look in his eyes.

Shirou then changed his question and became more direct. "Why did you bring _me_ here?" He asked.

Shirou already knew that it wasn't because Merlin wished to train him that Sir Ector and the others travelled to Roan, rather, the training was an unforeseen circumstance. Thus, it had to be because of other reasons he did not know.

"You are a Magus," Merlin stated with a tilt of his head.

"I am a Magus," he answered, not understanding Merlin's point.

"You are an Ashton," Merlin stated next.

"I, I am an Ashton," he spoke with hesitation, glancing at the magic crest that resonated with him.

Merlin nodded before clearing his throat. "You trust her, and wish to protect her more than anyone else?"

The 'her' Merlin was referring to could only be one person in Shirou's mind. Immediately he agreed.

Merlin's eyes flashed with an undiscernible light before he spoke. "You are abnormal. Such devotion for a single friend, it's impossible for others not to doubt you. However, I am different and possess my own means to judge a person, and because of this, I have brought you to Roan by inviting Sir Ector and the others."

It was exactly as Shirou had thought. Without his presence here, Merlin would not have gotten Sir Ector and the rest to come to Roan.

"Listen well," Merlin spoke seriously. "There are several matters currently going on within the Town of Roan. One of which is something that all magi view with the greatest importance and as such is the most ideal time for me to act…"

* * *

Emily would not be forgetting her experience of the previous night, and similarly, she would never look at the older men in the same way again. Especially Gerrard that vulgar man for bringing her along with everyone else to such a deplorable place.

In fact, she envied the fact that Palamid had been opportune enough to escape the entire situation.

Ultimately, the memories she had of the place would forever be locked in the deepest chambers of her mind and never to be opened again. Right now, all she wanted was to return back to her lodgings and take a rest before dealing with anything else at the moment.

She was currently travelling alone as she had been the quickest one to escape after Palamid had left, and thus had some time to think of certain matters to herself.

Walking silently, she felt a tad guilty about leaving behind her family without any notice, yet she had done what she had selfishly wanted to do. She had followed after the boy she unknowingly fancied.

As young as she was, she still did not know how to distinguish the feelings she had inside of her, but it didn't stop her from following through with her decisions. After all, it was something her mother would have had done without hesitation. It was how her mother had ended up marrying her father after various circumstances she, nor her father, were not privy to.

Moving her gaze at the town around her, the buildings made of wood and cobblestone, and even the small shacks in the distance where the serfs lived, it was similar to Bristol. It was almost as if she had never left, but she knew that it was probably just a case of nostalgia.

She had never travelled too far away from home before, and in fact, this trip to view the world had broadened her horizons, and all of this was due to the feelings she had for a certain boy and the courage she had mustered to follow through with them. In which case, words were not enough to express her gratitude and instead she began thinking about what to cook for Shirou.

Like an upstanding woman, her mother had taught her all about how to be a proper woman to a man. Often, the stomach was the road to a man's heart, but countless smaller things couldn't be ruled out either. For example, just being around to share one's troubles, or even providing assistance when needed could bring attention to herself.

It was the small things that count.

Lost in thought, Emily ended up walking in the wrong direction and eventually ended up at an open street. Blinking, she tried to remember how she'd gotten here, but instead found it odd when she realized the street was oddly empty.

A cold wind blew, which was odd for the summer season, but Emily could hardly pay attention to it after her eyes met with those a stranger's walking down the street.

The stranger wore extravagant clothing. Long delicate sleeves of silk travelled down her arms and a short but practical dress clung to her body just stopping short of her knees. Oddly, she wore a pair of men's hunting leathers for her pants.

The stranger's features were cold, her brown eyes flickering with thinly veiled curiosity before changing into something else indiscernible. Her features were impeccable, her skin unblemished, chestnut coloured hair propped into a bun, and her face round yet slightly narrowed, giving her a refined sort of appearance.

In the empty street, there were only two people: Emily and the stranger.

Suddenly, the stranger frowned after she continually eyed Emily. "This is impossible," the stranger muttered before stepping closer.

Emily only felt as if a mountain was pressing over her, the stranger's presence becoming more and more overwhelming as the stranger approached. Fear began to bubble up from within her for she couldn't understand the situation. Where were the other people? The bustling crowds that had once filled the streets? And who was this stranger approaching her as if she deserved nothing more than a passing glance.

At that moment, she realized where she was. She was actually near the lodgings where everyone was currently staying. It was only because the streets had become oddly empty that she could not immediately realize this. Once this thought flashed through her mind, instantly, she thought of calling for help. Surely her voice would carry over the distance and alert the others. After all, the lodging wasn't that far away from her position.

Yet at that moment, the look over the stranger's face gave her pause. It was sheer indifference as if no matter how hard she tried, no would come.

Placed in a stupor, it was only when the stranger stopped directly in front of her that Emily regained herself.

Staggering back, she looked on with fearful eyes as the stranger spoke.

"You are not a magus," the stranger stated quizzically. "Yet your presence within this space is a contradiction. The only explanation would be-"

The stranger suddenly stilled, her eyes narrowing dangerously as she observed Emily thoroughly.

Emily truly did not know how to respond to the situation, let alone what the stranger was talking about. Even then, the aura the stranger emitted was one of high nobility and standing. It was a familiar sort of feeling she had once felt when the Son of Wolfred had been oppressing her in the earlier years.

"To think I would encounter a child of that failure," the stranger eventually spoke after a long examination. From there, the stranger put on a complicated expression before shaking her head and muttering quietly about matters that Emily could not understand.

Suddenly, the stranger stepped forward and entered Emily's personal space, putting Emily within arm's reach within moments.

Emily panicked, trying to distance herself from this mysterious stranger, but found herself unable to move as an invisible force held her still. "W-What do you want?" She choked out, realizing that the stranger was reaching out for her.

The stranger spoke nothing, instead, placing a hand over Emily's own arm.

Suddenly, Emily could feel strange fluctuations pulsating throughout her body. It almost made her feel _powerful_ when she realized the same power was stemming from herself. Perhaps, even to a stronger degree than what the stranger herself was producing. However, that feeling was nothing compared to the fear she felt upon noticing the sharpness of the stranger's eyes.

Eventually, the stranger let go of Emily, a complex expression flashing across the stranger's face before returning to that of calm cold. The stranger seemed to hesitate over something before sneering in contempt, but ultimately asking a single question.

"Child, are you familiar with the noble name of Barthomeloi?"

* * *

Living within the Vernier's estate, the Madam resided within a detached complex in the state's land that she used for her own devices. In a way, it was a show of the importance Lord Vernier had placed on her to grant her free rule in one's own land. Yet in another, it could be viewed as a show of cowardice and apprehension. Lord Vernier not wishing to remain in her presence.

Either way, she smiled as she thought on the matter.

What a foolish man.

Did he not know that it was best to keep one's enemies close?

Then again, the same could be said to her, yet was Lord Vernier truly an enemy?

She shook her head, no; at best, he was just someone disposable. Unlike her who was unable to utilize her own identity, what she required of Lord Vernier was his reputation and status alone.

And yet, unnecessary troubles always seemed to pop up like rabbits in the fields.

Who was this Shirou Emiya? The madam laced her fingers together as she waited for her reports.

Not only did he appear to be an extraordinary youth, he possessed flair as well, beating down the sons of Vernier with but-a-stick on behalf of an injured friend. It was remarkable really. Not his valour or his virtue, but the feat of a stick parrying a sword.

She had no doubt that such a thing was possible should one be skilled enough, yet the boy was truly too young. She could understand and chalk it up to skill if he were any older, but who had ever heard of such an accomplished child? It was far more acceptable to believe in another conclusion she had come to.

"The preparations have been met," a voice spoke from the shadows of the dim candle-lit room. "You can expect a meeting within a couple days."

She only gave a nod in response, and quickly dismissed the messenger. Left alone, she raised up one of her hands and absently stared at the wisps of flame that danced around her finger tips before extinguishing them with a flick.

Magi.

They would be arriving in Roan shortly for a discussion of the greatest importance.

After all, Magic and Thaumaturgy were weakening, and this was a matter that effected all Magi. She herself was no exception. Therefore, something must be done, and she frowned knowing that she could not predict the result. However, that did not mean that she couldn't _influence_ it to something that suited her.

With the gathering of Magi within Roan, it was highly likely that this 'Shirou Emiya,' if that was truly his name, descended from a reclusive branch of magus. However, what she deemed worthy of further thought on the boy was only about a single matter.

He had been spotted alongside an effeminate youth of which she resented.

She had no idea why that child would arrive so early to Roan, but she suspected that it was due to the machinations of a thoughtful Wizard.

Her expression started to smolder.

_Arturia Pendragon._

Just thinking about that name brought untold consequences to befall upon her subordinates as she vented, and even now her eyes steadily landed on a single stationary figure.

"Agravain," she called bewitchingly.

Agravain twitched from the shadows at the corner of the room. His features were hard to distinguish due to the dim lighting, but it was clear that he had become tense. "Yes?" He called out.

At first, she had harbored unknown intentions towards her attendant, but quickly she returned to a state of practicism. She breathed in a breath before quietly crossing her legs together and leaning forward.

If this 'Shirou Emiya' was indeed descended from a reclusive branch of magus, then perhaps that deplorable Wizard had used the Young Blade's competition as a means to expand Arturia's influence?

Thinking along those lines, her expression darkened. She valued things that were rightfully hers, and similarly, she hated things that she could not possess.

With the coming gathering of prominent Magus families, this was the ideal time to gather support, and surely that Wizard would understand such a matter as well. It was just that he and Arturia seemed to have taken the initiative.

A sneer formed over her lips. If Arturia and that Wizard were intent on befriending and gaining allies, then who would she be if she did not hinder them?

Her eyes lingered on the tense figure of Agravain before she spoke.

"See to it that you invite this 'Shirou Emiya' for a little talk," she said, the light of the candle flame making shadows dance across her face.

Agravain could only nod silently before leaving the room.

* * *

With the end of the day's training session, Shirou now had a lot more to think about.

A gathering of prominent magical families.

A true gathering of prominent individuals of the moonlit world.

Based on the timeline, it could only be one thing that would result from this meeting. Perhaps Roan was where it had all begun. The starting foundation of an association that would last century after century.

The Mage's Association.

Said to have formed during the Medieval Ages, the association was created to combat against the declining strength of Thaumaturgy and magic alike. The prominent figures of the association all agreeing that Thaumaturgy and magic should separate from society completely to preserve the strength of magic.

Understandably, he didn't have much thoughts on the association, and single mindedly focused his attention on Arturia's growth, but Merlin's sudden reminder had forced him to re-evaluate his thoughts.

What should he do knowing he had the chance to influence the creation of such a powerful association?

As it would turn out, Merlin had gotten him into Roan for this very reason. To participate in the gathering and to test his character. Should he participate in the gathering, Merlin had insisted that he attempt to gather allies within the meeting. Merlin himself would not stoop to the level of believing he needed _any_ kind of help in regards to magic from another magus, yet he knew that the Witch would not sit idly at such event. This was why Merlin was inwardly conflicted, yet he had somehow met Shirou to solve this predicament. If he were to obtain more allies for Arturia, then it could only benefit her.

The gathering would be in several days, and during that time, Merlin had decided to continue to train both him and Arturia.

As for the contents of his training, it wasn't exactly training per say. It was more like supervision as he attempted to assimilate the Ashton Magic Crest into his body.

The trio walked leisurely back to the tavern the group was staying at. All the while, Arturia was remaining silent while not concealing the animosity she had in her eyes as she stared at Merlin.

After all, Merlin had left Arturia to hang for the entirety of the day. What truly infuriated Arturia was that Merlin did not necessarily have to hang Arturia in the first place. Locking her feet to the ground would have had been just as effective.

As the group walked back, Merlin stood in between Shirou and Arturia, preventing them from talking much. Admittedly, Merlin was at a loss to the grudgingly natural _skill_ Shirou unknowingly displayed whenever he talked with Arturia. It made Merlin feel sick watching their interactions as it made his own skills seem inadequate. There was a true difference between one who tries to flirt and succeed, and one who unknowingly does yet _still_ succeeds.

Even without thinking much on the matter, it was clear to Merlin which form of 'pick up' was superior.

Thus, along the rest of the journey to the tavern, Merlin's face continued to sour.

Reaching the tavern, the group quickly entered and move in the direction of their lodgings. Just from the sound coming out from the room, it was clear that everyone who once left had returned. Shirou, Arturia, and Merlin being the last to arrive.

Arturia entered the room first, and immediately went to stand by Sir Ector's side. Realizing what she had before she lost it. Sir Ector's teachings were far more likable when compared to Merlin's.

After Arturia came Shirou. Entering inside, his sights fell onto the Son of Wolfred who was sitting absently by the window of the room. Ever since the injury on the Son of Wolfred's hand, he had grown quiet and broody regardless of what others did around him. These actions only helped solidify Shirou's intentions of healing the Son of Wolfred's hand. Yet looking at the Son of Wolfred at this time, the Son of Woflred had a faint tint on his cheeks as he glowered at a laughing Gerrard at another corner of the room.

There was something that Shirou was missing here, and he knew that everyone else in the room was in on it. Because of this, he turned his attention to Emily to ask, but decided against it after seeing the vacant expression on her face. She seemed to be thinking hard on certain matters. Thus, it was best to give her some time to herself.

The only commotion occurred when the last person entered the room.

As soon as Merlin had walked inside, Sir Ector and Kay greeted him with a nod while the others just stared curiously aside from Palamid.

Merlin's eyes drifted from the sword embedded into the wall behind him, and at Palamid's empty hand.

"Is that anyway to greet a friend?" Merlin asked with a raised brow.

"Empty words from a man who's going to _die_ ," Palamid spoke slowly, drawing forth his other sword.

Merlin raised a brow before smiling cheerily. "Is that anyway for a lady to act?"

It was like a dam had broken within the room as an aura of murder and bloodlust erupted around a silent Palamid.

"I. Am. Going. To. Kill. YOU!" Palamid spoke stepping forward. Even his body was trembling in rage.

"Palamid, what's the matter with you?" Bors admonished, standing up and restraining Palamid before he could do something irreversible. Just from looking at the interaction between Merlin and Sir Ector, it was clear that the relationship the two shared was quite close. Meaning that Merlin was probably a man of considerable standing.

"Bors let go of me! He, He…" Palamid screamed before suddenly going quiet.

"He what?" Bors asked with some concern. He'd never seen Palamid act in such a way.

Palamid struggled out of Bors's hold and gritted his teeth staring at Merlin's nonchalance. "My vengeance will _not_ be swift," he spoke before leaving the room.

Meanwhile Bors was left stunned, staring at his open palm. In the process of holding Palamid back, he had felt something considerably soft. Thinking further, it could only be one thing. He had only been half-skeptical at first, but wasn't this proof enough? He clenched his hands into fists, swearing the same oath that many in the Knights of Wolfred had already sworn. He would protect Palamid's virtue.

As Palamid left, all eyes quickly turned on Merlin, Bors's being the most piercing.

"What can I say," Merlin shrugged. "We have a history with each other. But I have to say, as much as I like all this attention, I'd much prefer if you were all ladies. Since you are not, kindly stop or see what this Wizard can do."

Finished speaking, Sir Ector then introduced Merlin to the others, his name shocking the majority. After all, Merlin was truly a famous Wizard. Different from other magi, Merlin was open with his magic and did not hide from the public eye. His reputation was well deserved, but so was his womanizing tendencies.

Arturia put on a disgusted expression similar to the one's she'd use to have when cleaning after the pigs. In fact, she may even view Merlin's womanizing tendencies to be worse.

Emily though just seemed to stare curiously at Merlin, a contemplative look appearing over her face.

The others carried various expressions. From shock, all the way to incredulous.

In this time, Sir Ector explained Merlin's presence and that he was currently training both Arturia and Shirou in certain matters. Thus, Merlin would be staying along with the group as he underwent a few objectives.

It was only Shirou who knew that said objective was to scout out for any of the coming Magus families entering the city before the so-called Witch could.

Inadvertently, Merlin had ended up forcibly dragging Shirou into the matter as well in the following days. However, what Merlin didn't expect was the 'nose' Shirou possessed which allowed him to sniff out magical signatures. The usefulness of such a thing allowed the two to find numerous traces of several magi entering the town of Roan in the past few days.

It was on one certain day four days away from the gathering of prominent magi that Shirou met with someone unexpected.

It was a quiet and reserved youth with charming features. His hair was a prominent black, and his complexion was not too pale either. This contrasted very well with his sharp features, giving the youth a headstrong and unfaltering sort of appearance.

"You are Shirou Emiya?" The voice was neither demanding nor insistent, instead, it was calm and collected, reflecting the character of the speaker.

Shirou's eyes couldn't help but widen as he regarded the stranger. After all, this stranger was someone Saber, and by extension, himself knew from his memories.

It was a future Knight of the Round Table.


	22. Chapter 22

The man in front of him was an older looking gentleman wearing a green coloured tunic and a sword strapped to his side. He had long pale-blond hair tied neatly behind his head, and bangs that encompassed the sides of his face. He appeared austere in appearance with hard dignified eyes the colour of light-teal which were fixated on him as the man awaited an answer.

"That would be me," he replied to the earlier question of his identity.

The man's expression lightened moments after, breaking out into a small smile that revealed the laugh lines by his cheeks, and similarly revealing that he was actually a fairly open individual.

"My name is Bedivere," the man introduced. Judging from the way the man carried himself, and the light-heartedness of his tone, the man was actually a youth of similar age to Kay. "I know it's probably a bit awkward to be called out by stranger in the town, but I couldn't help but praise your skill. It might be a bit insensitive, but may I ask who trained you?"

Ah, he remembered now about something he had learned about Bedivere from Saber's memories.

Bedivere had first begun serving under Saber do to his admiration for her which later budded into unshakable loyalty. Because of this, he couldn't help but speculate that perhaps he had done something wrong by putting himself out in the open since by doing so, wasn't he taking away Arturia's possibilities?

This thought gave him pause, and Bedivere ended up taking this pause as an answer.

"A secret then," Bedivere said a tad disheartened, but coming to his own conclusions. "I suppose it's only natural to keep the identity of your master a secret. He must be a man of high standing and experience to have trained a student to beat others with a stick. Truly impressive."

He could only laugh awkwardly. Bedivere was one of Arturia's most loyal followers, and with the direction the conversation was heading, he didn't want to earn Bedivere's admiration instead. Because of this, he did not deny Bedivere's assumption that he was taught by someone. After all, there was some truth in it due to Saber's teachings. It was just that it would be too hard to believe.

"Then if there's nothing else, there's a few things I have to do today," he said.

Bedivere nodded with a quick look of acknowledgment. "Then I thank you for allowing me to take up some of your time," he then said.

Moments later, Bedivere ended up walking off and disappearing into the crowd.

His eyes were on Bedivere the entire time, thinking to himself just what it was he had to do now, and how many things he should really change.

* * *

It was night now, and the distant stars above were the only constants in this new life.

A girl he wished to protect and nurture with all of his being.

And the situations that would follow.

Similarly, a past he did not know, but was surely getting drawn into.

It was enough to cause any to question whether or not they had the ability or qualifications to follow through with them all. Even more so when more variables and factors continued to be added into the mix.

An association of magi.

The fight for an empty throne.

And the machinations of a jealous sister.

All were enough to bring along a headache, yet despite that, he had already decided on what he would do.

Shirou sat up from his position looking up at the sky, a breeze blowing by and tussling his bangs. More than that, the wind came in the direction of an approaching individual.

"A brat so young should not have that kind of complicated look on their face, Red," Gerrard slurred, walking in a tipsy before collapsing into a heap beside where Shirou was sitting. "Care for a drink instead?"

Gerrard held a small water skin bag filled with liquid that he swished around before taking a swig and once again holding it out beneath Shirou's nose.

Shirou snorted, taking the bag from Gerrard's hand and staring absently at it.

When was the last time he had taken a drink?

It wasn't exactly something he indulged in in his previous life; more of a means to appease his associates really.

Yet for one reason or another, he found himself taking an even bigger swig than what Gerrard had taken.

He really did have too many things to think about. Whether it be his training with Merlin, or the establishment of the Mages Association, what he realized after taking a drink was to focus only on a single matter at a time.

He was the boy, who for a single dream and ideal, had disregarded everything else, following in the sole path that he believed in. And in the end, he met her again. The one thing he cherished the most.

As the burning feeling of consuming alcohol travelled down his throat, his doubts cleared, and his thoughts were finally back onto what he should do. The future he would lead her towards was important, and the only thing he needed to do was to stop those that would harm her.

Even if it meant harming himself.

In this regard, both his unknown background and the forming of the Mages Association was irrelevant. However, he could not say the same for the jealous sister, the Witch Morgan Le Fay, and he knew that she would involve herself somehow with the Mages Association. How could she not when the opportunity was before her?

He was never a cautious individual.

Yet he was not stupid either.

The events that were happening now were completely out of his control, as he knew for sure that he had altered one thing or another in this timeline. What guarantee did he have that Morgan Le Fay would not involve herself in the matter and change things somehow to fit her agenda?

He subconsciously took another swig from the water skin bag, eliciting a surprised grunt of admiration from Gerrard before the grunt turned into full blown laughter.

After all, Shirou had begun choking.

"Easy there, Red, it takes skill to build one's tolerance," Gerrard consoled snickering. "I myself have built it up over the years."

Shirou wiped the alcohol off of his mouth before letting out a small laugh. His body now was different to what it was before. Because of this, the amount of alcohol he could consume at a time seems to have had decreased, but then again, he was not much of a drinker anyway.

Gerrard took the water skin bag and swished it around absently seeming to think about other matters.

In this way, the two sat in relative silence.

In a world without electricity to generate light, only the moon above was their companion.

The sound of nature and crickets setting a calming sort of mood that complimented nicely with fine drink.

"I say lad," Gerrard said a moment before his features broke out into a grin. "If you wanted to join in, why be like a coward and hide in the corner. Here under the open sky is where real men bask in their glory."

Shirou opened his eyes and raised a brow, thinking that Gerrard was referring to him as he sat resting his back against a tree outside of the tavern.

Clearly, he was wrong.

Gerrard's eyes were focused on an area beside him. Namely, just around the corner of the tavern where Arturia soon stepped out from.

Hair set freely down her shoulders, and teal eyes slightly drooped, she was the picture of an innocent beauty.

Gerrard had to wipe his eyes before muttering quietly to himself about not being misled.

He was in a slightly similar state, but perhaps it was only due to the alcohol. But for a moment, he thought that he had seen her again.

Her image.

Her outline.

The woman she would become.

Saber.

The tall reeds in the distance danced in the night as a calm breeze once again settled down in the area.

"Shirou," she called, a hand brushing back the hair that had fallen over her eyes behind her ears. "It's getting late, and we have practice tomorrow morning."

"Y-Yeah," he stuttered in his stupor, drawing a smile from Arturia.

Thinking about it, it probably was late to the point where the others had already fallen asleep. Then the question was, why wasn't Arturia?

Noticing his gaze, the weariness in Arturia's tired eyes disappeared, her gaze shifting slightly to the left in an unspoken act of bashfulness that she had no idea she was displaying.

If she were wearing a dress rather than the white tunic, the effect would have had been even more apparent.

A twitch formed over Gerrard's brow before he pinched himself lest his thoughts wander, and spoke up moments later.

"Late?" Gerrard's voice ruined the moment. "It's never too late to drink," he said, holding up and shaking the half-empty water skin bag.

"Drinking?" Arturia's expression became conflicted as Shirou's hardened, and Gerrard's became befuddled.

"For crying out lad, have you never been drinking?" Gerrard pressed, an air of seriousness around him.

What was drinking if not a man's pleasure?

To take away the weariness of battle, and the stress of a hard day.

Even to rid one's self of sorrow, if but only for a fleeting moment.

Arturia's nose scrunched up as she smelt the scent of the alcohol. "Oh, course not," she ended up saying. "Sir Ector said to always stay away from that stuff, and Kay never shared any of his."

A look of understanding appeared over Gerrard's face before he nodded solemnly. "Sounds about right for a stuck-up knight of principle."

Arturia glared, realizing that Gerrard may be insulting Sir Ector. Still, she couldn't but be curious when Gerrard held up the water skin bag for her to drink from.

Her own hands stretched out to take the bag from Gerrard's hand as inwardly she felt conflicted. On one hand, she wanted to experience what Shirou and everyone else had, but on the other, she had been warned vehemently by Sir Ector to never drink the stuff.

In the end though, her curiosity was winning and she had completely forgotten why it was she had come outside in the first place.

Slowly, she placed the opening of the bag near her lips, and already she felt somewhat dizzy from the strong aroma alone.

The grass beneath rustled.

A hand then appeared in front of Arturia's mouth before she could take any form of drink.

"No," Shirou spoke resolutely, taking away the water skin bag before Arturia could even realize it.

Gerrard clicked his tongue. "You're no fun, Red. At least let the lad have a taste."

With Gerrard's comment, Arturia couldn't help but nod, her determination to try the drink increasing the more Shirou kept it away from her.

In the end though, the matter was settled when Shirou, with a straight face, tipped over the water skin bag and spilled the entirety of its contents.

"NNOOOOO!"

A heartbroken wail echoed out in the middle of the night, but at least Shirou had now decided on a course of action.

* * *

The next morning, Shirou was up the earliest in order to train alone out in the woods.

It had been a long time since he had done so in the last couple of weeks; the last time he could recall was when he was still in Bristol within the Ashton manor.

It wasn't that he had gotten lazy and had been neglecting his training, but the situation just didn't allow him time to do so. During the march to intervene in the battle against the Saxons, vigilance was a must, and thus, a twenty-four-hour surveillance system was implemented; making it difficult to sneak out of the encampment without suspicion. He then went on to meet Merlin, and was promptly placed under his tutelage.

Even now, he still had to meet the man at the crack of dawn, four hours before high noon.

In the meantime, he finally had an opportunity to himself.

He breathed in and out, the morning muskiness of the air uplifting his spirits.

"Trace, on," his magic flared to life along with his magic circuits.

He closed his eyes and began to think. It wasn't long before a design appeared in his head, and all he would do from there was to actualize it.

Avalon once again appeared within his hands.

It was the Noble Phantasm that had been with him the longest.

It was also the one he knew the most, able to replicate it within seconds.

His eyes once again took note of the surroundings before he pulled out a rugged cloth in which he used to wrap the sheath within, making it appear less than ordinary. No one would so much as give it a second glance, but that was perfect for what he intended.

He slung Avalon over his back before going over his other practices.

Reaction speed.

Tracing ability.

He further familiarized himself with them all to increase his proficiency.

When he was done, only then did he return quietly to the tavern where the majority of everyone was still sleeping. Only Merlin and Sir Ector appeared to have had gone somewhere earlier in the morning. As for the rest, they were all sprawled out in the room sleeping.

Kay was in the corner near Bors and Gerrard where the both of them released loud snores. Charles who was near the two had an irritated expression on his face, but he was still asleep nonetheless.

As for Palamid, for some reason, he was sleeping with his helmet and armour on, facing directly towards where Merlin had been sleeping. It was evident that Palamid seemed completely on edge around Merlin due to reasons even he did not know. Regardless, it wasn't his business to meddle in.

Arturia, having fallen asleep fairly late the previous evening, had her legs sprawled over Emily as her arms were rested randomly over top her head. She had admittedly rolled her legs on top of Emily during the night. She was snoring softly, her breaths pushing aside her messy hair which had become disheveled in her sleep. He smiled softly before taking a moment to drape the blanket she had discarded in her sleep back over top of her. Stirring, she subconsciously pulled at the blanket and tucked it just under her neck, nestling back into her pillow moments later.

Still, she was not the person he had come here for, but rather, the one that was clinging onto Emily opposite from Arturia in his sleep.

The Son of Wolfred.

Having aided Arturia, and shown that he had grown up from his past actions, the Son of Wolfred had earned his respect.

It was just that, the Son of Wolfred being disabled in his actions to help Arturia left a bitter taste in his mouth. Even more so when he saw first-hand the effect it was having on him,

With that in mind, he carefully positioned himself by the Son of Wolfred's side and took out the wrapped sheath.

There was a reason why he didn't just trace Avalon now that he was beside the Son of Wolfred. Part of it was to continue watching for any effects the world may have on the construct, but the other reason was far more important.

As the sheath was unveiled, he could detect fluctuations in the energy within the sheath. Most importantly, he noted the direction.

Arturia.

It had always been her sheath, and he, a second owner of sorts that had possession of it for an extended period of time.

Regardless, Avalon only showed its true abilities when Arturia was present. This meant that even if some other individual acquired the sheath, they would not necessarily be able to utilize it. However, because he had possessed it for so long within his body, he was the only exception, the energy inside still healing him.

This was evident after the lingering energy from within the sheath from the Fourth Holy Grail War managed to heal him before the start of the Fifth.

It a physical sign of his connection with Saber, and something he cherished dearly after her passing.

He spent a moment in silence, feeling as the energy within the sheath danced wildly in reaction to Arturia's presence.

She may nat have had come in contact with Avalon in her current life, but that did not mean that Avalon could not recognize its owner.

With a internal thrum of energy, Avalon shone with a dim radiance as he slowly lowered it down onto the Son of Wolfred.

The scabbard seamed to fade into particles of glowing yellow dots that fell seamlessly into the Son of Wolfred's body ending with a brilliant flash that caused the Son of Wolfred to glow.

That which should not be.

And that which has been altered and damaged.

Let it return to what it once was.

Avalon of the Ever-Distant Utopia.

Under its potent healing properties, the Son of Wolfred's wounds, past and present all began healing at a visible rate. Even the expression of discomfort previously on the Son of Wolfred's face had disappeared to be replaced with a tranquil calm.

This was one of the abilities of the Ever-Distant Utopia.

Let none damage the wielder, and with it, triumph over thousands of battles.

For sometimes the sheath is more important than the sword.

The wounded hand released a soft light at the area of the wound. And almost as if it was some joke by a court jester, the wound was gone, sealed by the light of a means beyond mortal comprehension.

He stood there for a minute longer before he raised his hand out, and the particles of light that had entered the Son of Wolfred's body began their exit. From there, Avalon was formed once more, floating just above his palm as it formed from the coalition of light particles.

Making sure that everyone was still asleep, he then rewrapped Avalon within the sheets of cloth to avoid any suspicion of his next actions before he dismissed it. After all, Merlin and Sir Ector were still awake somewhere, and of the two, Merlin may have some idea of what Avalon was. In which case, he wouldn't have much of a reasonable explanation as to why he had it. Thus, it was better to conceal it first before dismissing it as dismissing his projections wasn't instant. Secondly, the power Avalon had been exuding should have been more than enough to alert Merlin that he had done something.

In the end, it was still better to be cautious.

His job done, he then quietly made his exit.

As he left the room, he didn't pay much attention to the stiff movement of a fully armored Palamid. Not realizing that behind the armoured helm of Palamid's visor, a pair of eyes had lost all sense of drowsiness and had instead been replaced by wonder.

* * *

When noon arrived, and when everyone had all woken up, the Son of Wolfred had nearly thrown himself out the window thinking that he was in some sort of dream and needed to wake up.

"What were you thinking, you fool of a Baron's son," Bors reprimanded the Son of Wolfred with a heavy stare.

The Son of Wolfred quailed under Bors's scrutiny, laughing nervously before stuttering. "I-I thought I was dreaming," he said, looking at his uninjured arm. "So, I had to wake up somehow."

"By trying to jump out the window?" Bors asked skeptically.

"If you put it that way, it sounds way worse than it is," the Son of Woflred scoffed, but then grew exasperated from the looks everyone was giving him. "Look alright. In dreams, you obviously wake up when you die don't you?"

"Obviously there's no reasoning with, idiots," Bors sighed as Kay snorted a distance away. "I just wonder how I'll have to report this to your father."

"Don't then," the Son of Wolfred spoke, finally growing embarrassed. "What he doesn't know, he won't get angry for."

Saying that, the Son of Wolfred then went on to stare at his once wounded hand once more, moving the fingers and wrist in testing motions.

"I-Its actually real," the Son of Wolfred couldn't help but mutter again, his legs growing weak as he used the window frame for support.

"Get away from that window, kid," Kay joked. "Men don't fly."

Amused laughs echoed out through the room, Kay himself was laughing until Arturia spoke.

"Except when kicked," Arturia spoke offhandedly. "You do a good impression, Kay."

Kay stiffened before his face grew increasingly cold. "Fuck that horse," his body involuntarily shuddered. "I don't know where Merlin got that thing, but surely the pet reflects its owner."

"Agreed, curse that man to the very pits of hell to suffer eternal damnation where even seeing the light of day would become a mercy," Palamid spoke, his tone clipped.

Everyone raised a brow and stared questioningly at Palamid who merely crossed his arms and ignored them all. Out of everyone this morning, he was the only one who remained quiet as the proceedings went on, lost in his own thoughts. Which was why his statement had as big of an effect as it did.

"I don't care how this is possible, but perhaps there is a God out there," the Son of Wolfred spoke while opening and closing his hand. "Either way, I'm cured," he finished, drawing forth his sword and giving it a few test swings.

"Then I've a different question to ask this morning," Kay said. "Where's my old man and Merlin?"

Indeed.

Since the start of the morning when Shirou had first gotten up until everyone else had, neither Sir Ector or Merlin had returned.

Shirou could hazard a guess as to what Merlin was doing, but he drew a blank thinking about where Sir Ector would be. From the memoires he had with Saber, Sir Ector was a straightforward and earnest man who followed his principles to the letter. He normally would not leave by himself without any notice. This was why both Kay and Arturia had a troubled look on their faces.

As expected, no one in the room had any answers to Kay's question.

All things considered, Shirou had thought that after using Avalon earlier in the morning that Merlin would quickly return after sensing its power. It was why he had been so cautious, but apparently there were other matters more important to attend to. Or perhaps he was held up?

Unsure of where the two missing people were, they all decided that it was best to just wait it out and act like normal. No matter where those two went, they should eventually return.

With this mindset, Emily began to do chores within the tavern, while asking around from the other customers about any information of Sir Ector and Merlin. She was a clever girl that way.

Meanwhile the others aside from the Son of Wolfred and Palamid, who resolved himself to help the Son of Wolfred readjust his swordsmanship after his injury, decided to just walk around the Town of Roan in hopes of running into the other two.

This was the case for Arturia and Shirou.

It was just that they had unexpectedly run into some unforeseen situation in the trading area of the town locally known as the market.

"That would be a lion cub," Shirou spoke to Arturia who was staring at the lion cub kept by one of the merchant's wares.

The owner himself appeared troubled that the cub was disturbing his business, and upon seeing its fondness for Arturia pressed her to take it off his hands for a while. Although it was only until the merchant had finished selling all of his wares.

Taken aback by the merchant's persistency, could only stare dumbly at Shirou as the little lion cub pawed lightly at her legs.

"D-did I do something wrong?" She asked befuddled. "How did this happen to me?"

"It would have had helped your case more if you had outright refused," Shirou put in without much thought.

Truthfully, as Shirou was with her the entire time, he could have easily refused in her stead. Yet, how could he when Arturia's refusals seemed to melt every time the cub attempted to roar at her in protest? Even more so, he vaguely recalled a similar event happening in Saber's memories. It was why she was fond of lions in the first place.

Glancing at Arturia, and the cub who had clung itself to her leg as she walked, he nearly ran into wooden post after getting so distracted. It didn't help that others were staring at the cub on Arturia's leg as well. It wasn't very often that the locals could ever see an actual lion.

Still, based off Arturia carefree expression, she didn't seem to mind the cub clinging onto her leg. Because of this, Shirou ended up stopping her and pulling the cub off of her her leg before depositing it directly into a confused Arturia's arms.

Her eyebrows quirked up, but she didn't pursue the matter in favour of keeping the lion cub at arm's reach to prevent it from licking her face. Her efforts however only proved futile as the cub then decided to attempt to crawl up her arms; it then climbing up to her shoulders before she even realized it and planting itself firmly on top of her head where it let out a yawn and then promptly closed its eyes.

Her lip twitched.

This unruly animal.

She didn't mind it much before when it was stuck onto her leg, treating it more like a decoration, but on top of her head?

That was an entirely different matter.

Attempting to pull it off her head, her actions proved ineffective as the cub used its paws to firmly latch onto her temples. She grew increasingly ashen faced as time went on; finally, she remembered something vital.

"Shirou," she called uncertainly, recalling that he had been the one to know what this animal was called. Surely, he would know of a way to tame it.

Silence was her answer from the companion standing by her side, making her grow impatient as she could literally _feel_ a trail of slobber begin to work down from her forehead where the cub began napping.

She stared at Shirou's face, and in turn, he scratched at his cheek before glancing away.

T-This traitor! She nearly blustered out at him as he was the exact cause of this new problem, but then she realized it would be inappropriate of her.

A Knight should deal with their own troubles.

So, with that determination, she crossed her arms and pretended that there _wasn't_ a trail of drool sliding down just between her eyes… for but a moment. Yes, for but a single moment before she again began to attempt to pry the animal off of her.

After all, how could she not feel ashamed when even Shirou refused to look at her let alone anyone else they may meet?

In fact, they still had to find Sir Ector and Merlin.

"Get off!" She seethed, but the cub only ignored her.

"Well uhm," Shirou scratched his head, feeling a tad guilty, but not doing anything regardless. "We better get going, and ugh, you got something there."

Saying that, Shirou stretched out his hand and wiped away some of the drool that had made its way to Arturia's cheek.

Immediately, Arturia was taken aback from the contact, her mind going blank before she just stood there as Shirou began to walk back onto the streets.

Oddly enough, as soon as Shirou did walk back onto the streets, his eyes immediately narrowed.

There were no longer any signs of people.

A distortion of space that affects a limited area,

Giving rise to a form of subtle persuasion that directly influences the minds of the common folk.

Bounded field.

He was familiar with it, as he was able to use one himself.

Yet this field was different. It didn't seem to have existed before and there were no set foundations to its creation that he could perceive.

It was perhaps a more advanced form that was lost in the modern times due to the regression of the age of magic and Gaia's growing influence.

Regardless, it was where he and Arturia found themselves in right now.

The only explanation Shirou could think of was that both he and Arturia had stumbled directly onto the path of one of the mage families on their way to the meeting for the formation of the Mages Association.

He clicked his tongue as he watched Arturia approach behind him slowly. The lion was still stuck to her head, but its eyes were now wide open and alert.

An animal's senses were far better than humans in picking up danger as it would seem.

Yet what truly troubled him about the situation was that Arturia was now involved in this mess. This was completely different from what he knew should have had happened. In Saber's timeline, she knew of the Mages Association due to Merlin, but she had never been truly involved in it.

However, this time, she may very well be dragged into it. Especially should another magus discover her unique constitution. In which case, he just wouldn't let that happen.

"Shirou?" Arturia called uncertainly.

"Arturia," he replied back, his eyes darting to the surroundings. "Keep close to me."

From the general idea of a bounded field, its function and sensory information was directly linked with the owner. In which case, Shirou had no doubts that whoever casted this bounded field already knew of their location and would soon arrive.

Noticing the tenseness in Shirou's voice, Arturia didn't voice a complaint as she pressed herself near him, heeding Shirou's words and revealing the amount of trust she had in him to follow through with them.

She breathed out a breath, and laid a hand down to rest upon the hilt of her sword, ready for anything.

The nature of this bounded field appeared to only be to ward others away and alert the caster of anyone who entered it. And exactly as Shirou had thought, this was the exact case.

Footsteps could be heard from within the streets as man appeared dressed in a regal looking attire with an outfit that resembled a modern tuxedo; something like formal wear, with long tail coats split to the side. On the man's shoulder was a black mantle adorned with fur of some kind near the edges.

The face of the man was set into a business like calm, as if he couldn't be bothered by anything that didn't interest him or wasn't important in the least. It was a square face with stern frown lines on his cheeks, and creases on his forehead. Admittedly, he was middle aged already, with thin grey short hair cropped neatly above his head.

The man paused as he regarded both Shirou and Arturia, seeming to come to some conclusion based on their age.

However, the man's eyes lingered longer on Arturia before he then turned his attention on Shirou.

"No need to be so tense," the man's voice was like his appearance. Neutral.

And this unnerved Arturia who had never met a man so strange. Yet, her stance didn't falter from her position beside Shirou.

It was then that she realized something. Since a young age, she had known that Shirou was a Wizard of some kind similar to Merlin, but she also knew that there were perhaps more like him. From the general feel she could get from this man, he was probably a wizard of some kind as well.

Remembering Shirou's abilities he had displayed against the beast, it wasn't hard for her to imagine the kind of strength other Wizards had. In which case, she grew increasingly frustrated at herself, knowing that she wasn't strong enough to do anything at this moment. How could she when she was still having trouble utilizing her own magic and was left hanging by the leg the last few training sessions with Merlin? She voed at this moment that she would put in far more effort to become stronger.

How else could she remain by Shirou's side to protect him as equals?

"And you would be?" Shirou questioned.

The man didn't answer. Instead, he stopped walking forward and assessed Shirou up and down.

"You're young for a magus," the man spoke. "An heir perhaps? Either way, you've probably come here for the gathering as well."

"Gathering?" Arturia asked quizzically from Shirou's side, furrowing her brows in thought, but remaining silent nonetheless.

Shirou did not answer, nor give any indication of a response to the man's answer.

"You needn't speak," the man said shrugging his shoulders. "I was just curious was all. Most families like ours tend to stay hidden away from sight, and will probably still continue to do so for the most part even after this meeting unless anything substantial occurs. This is why it is pointless for you to know my name, and pointless for me to know of yours. This may be the first, and last time we will ever meet."

As the man continued talking, more and more Shirou found it peculiar as the man's eyes drifted away from him and towards Arturia.

All traditional magi were natural researchers in the field of magic. What Arturia had because of her constitution, it was definitely something worth researching to most magi.

And somehow, Shirou was getting an increasingly bad feeling the longer the man stared at Arturia.

The said person in question subconsciously shielded herself from the man's gaze by hiding and pressing her body closer to Shirou's; the lion above her head giving a low roar as it was clear that it felt threatened.

"If that is all that you have to say, then we'll be leaving," Shirou spoke, turning around and pulling Arturia along with him.

He really didn't want to involve himself in this kind of situation right now. If possible, he wanted to get Arturia out of the situation first, and then deal with things regarding the Mages Association by himself.

Agreeing to let her fight alongside him against common enemies was one thing, but letting her fight alongside him against a magus was another. Not until she could at least understand how to use mana burst to help her get out of dangerous situations.

Mana Burst was on of Sabers abilities that allowed the user to infuse their weapon and body with magic and instantly expelling it. Recreating the effect of a jet burst and catching enemies by surprise with instantaneous speed and power.

With the way Merlin was training Arturia at the moment, it was clear that he was training her to utilize mana burst to cut apart the vines suspending her in a spurt of power. Yet it was a fact that she had not learned it yet.

Shirou did not make it more than a couple steps with Arturia until the man raised his voice.

"Wait," the man said, his expression shifting from one of calm to one of interest. "That person beside you…"

Hearing the man's inquiry, Shirou's expression immediately turned cold. His intuition was right. Some way or another, the man had been able to discern something unique about Arturia. And from what it appeared like, he wasn't entirely sure, but was willing to act upon a moment's curisoty.

"It's none of your concern," Shirou said quickly. "And should you inquire further, I'm sure you know what it means to fight another magus."

For a moment, Shirou no longer looked like a child in the man's eyes. Instead, he appeared as a sturdy youth clad in a tight form fitting armour that revealed the taught and rippling muscles beneath.

A body riddled with scars.

This was the image of a warrior.

One who had roamed countless battlefields.

And yet most importantly, it screamed of danger. Like a sleeping dragon just waiting to unleash its strength.

_The Magus Killer._

The man didn't know why, but his heart beat quickened to the point where he could feel the blood throbbing through his head. However, a magus's curiosity was hard to quell. Even though he felt intimidated for one reason or another, it still didn't completely dissuade him from taking action. It only caused him to be far more cautious in his approach even after the image of the warrior faded and the youth resembled a boy once again.

The man shut his mouth, a contemplative look in his eyes as his hands went down into his pockets.

"I suggest you do not do anything rash," a voice suddenly spoke from out of nowhere startling those present, but giving a sense of relief towards Shirou and Arturia.

After all, one of the most reliable supports had arrived.

"Those are my students after all."

It was the Wizard Merlin.


	23. Chapter 23

It was unfortunate, Merlin concluded.

Truly it was.

Looking at the appearance of his newest apprentice, he would rather not interfere in the proceedings. Not when even he who had a clear understanding of the future was monitoring the actions of an anomaly.

Because simply from what he knew, a magus such as Shirou Emiya should not exist in any shape way or form in the timeline he had foreseen. Even more so when said apprentice could somehow replicate Noble Phantasms through a simple thaumaturgy as Gradation Air.

Normal use by other magi including himself would usually result in an inferior product with multiple defects. As a result, it was far more effective to reinforce an existing object, thus making Gradation Air useless in the eyes of other magi. This was the common consensus when it came to the magic.

An incomplete craft.

Yet Shirou Emiya's application of this fairly incomplete magic garnered enough interest from himself to put more consideration into its complexities.

More than that, what he was interested in were the abilities Shirou had withheld from him. He knew that Shirou was being honest during the entirety of his explanation, otherwise he would have had detected hints in Shirou's speech, tone, and even the fluctuations of the magic inside his body. This was not the case. Shirou was calm and forthright with the information, not betraying anything. In this way, Shirou was authentic, yet what truly mattered was the information omitted.

What other magecraft was he hiding?

Hmm. Rather than hiding, it would be more appropriate to say withholding. After the initial questioning of Shirou's abilities, he had given the chance for Shirou to continue explaining from where they had last left off before, yet Shirou did not have much to say.

Reinforcement.

Alteration.

Tracing, Shirou's unique method of Gradation Air.

And a tad bit of Runes.

That was all Shirou admitted to knowing. Of course, it was only the right action for an apprentice to do. How else could he teach without being able to build up on what was already known? With that in mind, how could he strengthen what he did not know?

Merlin watched the proceedings in curiosity, the red slap mark on his face not hindering his actions in the slightest as he placed a hand beneath his chin.

 _The stature of Shirou's aura, and the sharpness of his gaze was not something a person his age should have. But that doesn't concern me much, now what have you been withholding?_ Merlin continued to ponder as he watched.

The reason he knew that Shirou had neglected to tell him something was due to a single coincidence. The muttering of a verse that sent a tingling sensation down his back.

_I am the bone of my sword?_

This was exactly what Merlin had heard come from Shirou's mouth when he had returned from coaching Arturia.

As a mage himself, Merlin knew what it was.

An Aria.

But for what spell exactly?

Shirou did not tell him, nor did Merlin bring himself to ask.

Could Shirou not need his guidance when it came to this particular magecraft?

This thought process just made Merlin even more curious. Yet still, he would not ask. It was too demeaning for a Wizard like himself. Therefore, he would resort to other means.

Although he wouldn't pry directly, couldn't he just witness it for himself by putting the lad through some unforeseen circumstance? This current situation could be exactly what he needed after what he had to deal with this morning.

But as the standoff between Shirou, Arturia, and the unknown magus continued, Merlin's expression started to fall when he realized the other Magus's attention was moving away from Shirou and towards Arturia.

The hand once placed below his chin fell and grasped at the staff by his side.

This other magus was about to cross a line he would not permit to be passed.

Merlin waved his staff, and his figure manifested from the air, a look of nonchalance on his face derived from his utmost confidence. "I suggest you do not do anything rash. Those are my students after all," he spoke walking forward.

Shirou stood before Arturia, his eyes slanted and narrowed as his hands opened and closed around imaginary hilts. Upon seeing Merlin, Shirou's expression lightened after giving a nod.

Merlin only briefly acknowledged Shirou's actions with the quirking of his mouth before turning his full attention on the magus Shirou was shielding Arturia from.

"Merlin the Wizard?" The magus's brows creased noticeably, a furrow forming on his forehead. "And students you say?"

"Correct, well, mostly," Merlin spoke with a smile and a twitch of an eye. "One student, and an ignorant philanderer who _admittedly_ has potential."

"Philanderer?" Arturia questioned, staring at Shirou.

Shirou very readily ignored her in favour of taking a deep breath lest he act on an impulse to deck Merlin in the face. His current feelings were similar to how one would feel when someone was attempting to corrupt their loved one.

Perhaps Merlin noticed the murderous aura growing around Shirou, but he could hardly care about whatever slight he may have had done to the lad. It's what Shirou gets for trying to compete with Merlin and the women around him.

The other magus was silent, his expression finally turning neutral after a moment of calm.

"If I may, I would like to look at one of your students in detail? Just a simple examination is all," the magus said.

It was clear that the man was holding himself back from attacking by asking.

Merlin though was not amused. Admittedly, he was an adept womanizer, an experienced veteran even, but he had never lost his priorities.

"I will have to deny that request," Merlin spoke soundly. "Besides, you know how any other magus would react to your actions. Magic is to be guarded."

A Magus's mysteries or magic was indeed to be guarded, and it was a fact known by many of the existing magus families. However, there were exceptions such as alignment of interest where one magus's research could benefit the other, and vice versa.

More rarely is the case of discovering a magical oddity of great interest to _every_ magus in regards to research and possibility.

If Shirou was able to put this analogy into words, it would be a Sealing Designation. After all, even in the modern times, a Magic Core may very well garner the interests of many magi due to their rarity.

Following the mark of a Sealing Designation, the modern Mage's Association would stop at nothing to secure the flesh and blood of a designee for further study.

This could be the particular case should the magus learn of Arturia's magical constitution.

Yet humans were greedy.

In the case that the magus alone discovered Arturia's constitution, it very well be what prevents a large headache. Should the magus discover it, the magus would definitely not distribute the information, rather it was more beneficial if the magus alone knew to prevent competition.

However, that was only if the magus discovered Arturia's Magic Core. In which case, Merlin's presence alone could serve as the greatest shield.

The magus would not straight forwardly move against the Wizard Merlin, yet that didn't mean the magus couldn't attempt other means.

"That may be the case, but you know as well as I about the existence of exceptions. Besides, those two are not your kin either. Why would a magus such as yourself not raise an heir of pure blood?" The magus asked.

Merlin was quick to answer, and it nearly broke the image the man hand of the renowned Wizard.

"Because I wouldn't know my own children," Merlin spoke in all seriousness. "Only their mothers."

The magus was at a loss for words, his expression incredulous as if asking 'are you serious?' Regardless, the magus quickly pinched the bridge of his nose and glared through his eyes.

"Is one glance enough to sow discord with the house of Archibald?" Irritation was evident in the Magus's tone.

Merlin pushed both Arturia and Shirou behind him as if he was herding sheep before stepping forward to reply.

"Would the Archibald be so petty?" Merlin countered.

Lord Archibald didn not answer when it was clear that he would get nothing from this dealing with Merlin. Confrontation was also out of the question, not just because he may lose, but because of the importance of the approaching meeting.

Still though, he would not give up so easily.

"This matter is not over," Lord Archibald said.

Yet as soon as he said so, he was immediately locked in vines that restricted his movements and left grazes on his skin despite the clothes he wore. Any movement on his part, and Merlin could literally strangle him to death.

"Oh believe me, it is," Merlin replied.

Herding both Arturia and Shirou, Merlin turned his back on Lord Archibald and left in the distance.

Lord Archibald frowned in agitation as the image he saw of Shirou, Merlin, and Arturia, faded away, leaving an empty street and him tied to the brambles of a vine he realized was never there.

An illusion?

It had to have been placed on him just before Merlin and the rest departed. He could no longer sense or track them now.

Lord Archibal clicked his tongue as the silver liquid he was inconspicuously laying around him during the course of the talking retreated back into the folds of his clothing.

* * *

Shirou stared up at Merlin as he along with Arturia were directed in a certain direction.

Merlin didn't speak right away, only opening his mouth to answer when Arturia eventually asked about the earlier encounter and what was going on.

Reluctantly, Merlin began to explain the gathering of magi that was going on within the town of Roan. It was supposed to be an event irrelevant to Arturia who would not overtly dabble in the art of magic in her path to Kingship, but due to the situation, Merlin felt uneasy leaving her alone. Especially should she encounter Lord Archibald once again as the man had developed an interest.

Instead, he would feel better if Arturia only encountered other magi in his presence. Because no other magus would be willing to place Merlin as an enemy aside from a select few. Of course, there was the potential of one of those selcet few appearing in the gatheirng, but at that point, he would have to rely on Shirou.

Still, it was only a possiblity.

Thus, he took Arturia along with Shirou towards the gathering.

The entire reason Merlin had gotten up and left so early was to prepare a few things in regards to the gathering. Being notified of the time and location being one of them.

It was to be in the evening of this very day at the abandoned manor of a fallen line of nobles.

As the three approached the building, a crowd of almost a hundred individuals could be seen, and the number was still growing under the darkening sky.

The crowd was bunched up near the gate of the fallen Noble's manor, the gate only wide enough to accommodate three people at best.

As Merlin, Shirou, and Arturia approached the gate, they were suddenly stopped by a group of magi who had disagreements with Shirou and Arturia's presence.

"These two are my students," Merlin spoke after saying his name.

And indeed, his name had the desired effect as the magic blocking the path hesitated, but in the end, didn't move. Although it was a gathering, the gathering only consisted of the influential members of a magi's household.

The family Heads, the leaders and inheritors of their craft.

Not a single person without status and sway was present, so it was normal for others to question Shirou's and Arturia's presence in a gathering to determine the future of the younger generation of magi and the pursuit of magic.

It didn't matter if they were Merlin's students, what mattered to cause so many magi to gather together was the pursuit of magic.

Being stopped like this, Shirou was incredulous as he debated showing his magecraft. Yet he knew that wouldn't be enough either. Any of the other magi present were either Family Heads, or future Family Heads. He truly didn't have enough of a standing unless he tried using the Ashton name who was already speculated to be a magus family.

Still, before he could any further, he spotted something in the sky, and a felt a familiar calling from within. Thus, he spoke his words and hoped that what would come would be enough.

"Standing, and right to be here?" A shadow loomed in the sky, dropping down suddenly, and leaving a deep impression into the ground. "I am a magus too," he spoke.

A pair of sharp eyes glared at those around him from his back, a faint heat engulfing the surroundings.

_"_ _Play? Food? Enemy?"_

Shirou glanced at the new arrival, smiling wryly as a string of single words entered his mind in a familiar manner.

Efret had returned to Shirou's side, bringing with it news of Barwheld's activities and any actions the Saxons may have taken. From the information delivered in bits and pieces into his mind from Efret, Shirou could piece together that the Saxons were gathering a large army. But Barwheld was already making preperations and would notify him when the time came through Efret.

Efret stood standing just behind him from where Arturia stood protected under Merlin's watchful gaze.

The addition of Efret caused a stifling silence to occupy the area as numerous pairs of eyes began assessing Efret.

"P-Phantasmal beast?"

Many of the magi present could recognize Efret's species, and a few of the weaker magus heads from the lesser households even began to back away in fright as Efret's gaze swept over them.

None dared question Shirou's right to participate in the gathering despite his age.

Aftrer all, Shirou possessed a Phantasmal Beast.

If he wasn't from an influential magus family, then at least he must have been of the mid-rank magus families. Add to the fact that Merlin claimed him as a student, and he had all rights to be present.

Efret's arrival came at a timely moment.

Yet…

"Then what of the other one?"

The question was inevitably asked as everyone's attention turned to Arturia.

Two in the crowd of Magi were the most interested. One being Lord Archibald who had already met with Arturia, and another being the mysterious Madam who had come from the Vernier estate.

The Madam from the Vernier estate looked at Arturia's direction with a critical eye, the features behind the veil she wore imaginable due to the stillness of her figure. It was cold and loathsome, a small smile hidden beneath with a hint of trickery. "The other is in possession of something rarely seen, a Magic Core," the Madam spoke with certainty.

What the Madam said brought a devastating effect, and even caused Merlin's features to greatly darken as he stared at the Madam's direction and grunted.

"This is my student," Merlin repeated in a light warning tone, placing a hand over Arturia's shoulders.

Immediately, numerous magi quailed under his threat, but not all. Most certainly not the ones that held a great pride in their own worth and Magic, and most certainly not the sly types who only feigned fear.

With the introduction of a Magic Core, not a single magus voiced any complaints to Arturia's presence. In fact, she could only blink her eyes in bewilderment as the magi gave her room, not understanding the significance of a Magic Core.

As Merlin, Shirou, and Arturia passed the gates of the fallen Noble's manor, no other magi moved to stop them as they neared the main building.

From there, it was a Lady from the House of Barthomeloi that opened the way into the building housing the gathering.

Because of Efret's size, it was left behind as the meeting progressed into a closed room that was more of a dimly lit chamber filled with flickering candle light.

As the meeting went on, it was clear that nothing would get decided, not with the way every magus in the room appeared to be lost in thought.

Shirou didn't like it.

Not at all.

For he knew that it meant trouble when the target of numerous magi's thoughts were on himself and Arturia.

His eyes remained fixed on the Madam of the Vernier estate. Everything started with her and her words. More specifically, it was her that had placed any sort of attention on Arturia after the astounding impression he had given moments earlier.

From the way Arturia was still looking curiously at the 'Wizards' similar to Merlin across the room, she was naïve to think that nothing was going to happen after the revelation of a Magic Core.

He made sure to step in front of her to block her from the view of the others as he waited for the meeting to end.

As he expected before, the meeting ended without any progress, most of the attention of the Magus families preoccupied. In which case, the rest of the meeting would be concluded in a span of several days of gathering.

After the meeting, as everyone was exiting, Merlin had an uncharacteristic frown on his face as he quickly placed his hands on both Shirou and Arturia's shoulders and then led them to the corner of the room.

Merlin didn't say anything, but he made eye contact with Shirou for nearly a whole minute before retracting his gaze and shifting it in the direction of where the Madam of the Vernier estate stood inspecting her nails at the exit of the room.

No longer uttering a word, Merlin quickly left Shirou's and Arturia's side before either of the two realized what was going on.

"As expected, you were here as well," Merlin spoke out of ear shot from Shirou and Arturia.

The Madam paused in the inspection of her nails before looking up at Merlin with a tilted gaze.

"Merlin," the name came out of the Madam's mouth as if she had swallowed something bitter. Resentment was clear in her tone. "A pleasure."

Merlin shrugged, not at all affected by the hostility directed at him. "Women generally grow more beautiful the more they age, like a fine liquor kept in storage to appeal to the finest of tastes. You though," Merlin's eyes shone with a knowing light. "You grow more and more detestable, like a weed attempting to overthrow a garden."

"How eloquent," the Madam spoke, crossing her arms and leaning forward in a posture of provocativeness. "The thing about _weeds_ Merlin, is that they will win regardless when the garden eventually dies."

Saying this, the Madam's eyes strayed to Arturia and Shirou who still stood at the corner, Shirou keeping Arturia's attention.

She turned towards Merlin, uncrossing her arms and laying them by her hips. "You won't be able to protect her forever," she then said.

Merlin stared at the face hidden behind the veil before sighing.

_Humans._

They can transform to the most beautiful of doves and flowers, but they can also degrade to become the most horrid of pests and vexations due to their own prejudice and emotion, Merlin couldn't help but think, staring at the eyes of the woman he once knew.

One that was upright and strong.

Now reduced to this.

Such a shame.

His eyes narrowed along with his will and resolve. "You are right," he admitted. From all perspectives, it was impossible to protect someone at all times. Yet there was something he alone could do. "But I can certainly protect her from you,"

The Madam from the Vernier estate froze in place, a dark scowl coming over her features as Merlin gestured for her to follow.

She glared at Arturia who was left unaware, but an instant later, a staff was placed in front of her.

"Do not make me repeat myself," Merlin said absently. "I will not allow you to act freely."

The Madam from the Vernier estate did not retort, instead, laughing lowly as she took notice of the attention around Arturia by the other magi. "But perhaps I don't have to," she said.

"…" Merlin clicked his tongue. He had anticipated the Madam from the Vernier estate's interference, but he did not expect for the woman to direct the situation as she did. It was clever, of that he had no doubts, but in doing so, the woman had lost something as well.

The initiative. She had shown her cards already while he had yet to show his.

Either she was confident, or she didn't place much value on the actions of the other. Regardless, the Madam of the Vernier estate was not the only one with a few tricks to play.

He gestured with his eyes to Shirou as their gazes met, and an understanding between two men immediately exchanged between the two.

He would leave her in his hands for now.

_Let us see if there is something to be gained in this venture._

He retracted his staff from near the Madam's face and bean using it as a cane.

"Well then, after you," Merlin spoke, moving his body to allow Shirou and Arturia to exit the room before walking forward and leading the Madam towards another destination to fight. "You just might see something you werent expecting.

_It's all up to you know, boy._

Merlin gave one last glance at Shirou before promptly leaving the room with the Madam reluctantly in tow.

Shirou was not a fool who could not understand what Merlin was asking of him. He promptly held Arturia's hand before leading her out of the room by using the opportunity Merlin had provided.

* * *

Walking silently, Arturia glanced down at the hand holding onto her own, and then pursed her lips.

Shirou was keeping her close, and from the expression on his face, he had noticed something that she hadn't on their way out of the first meeting of magi.

It troubled her.

Her inability in the field of magic. If it were anything else, she was sure that she would be of use with what Sir Ector had taught her in her upbringing. Faint traces left in the ground, or even the sound of footsteps, they were all signs techniques that Sir Ector, and to an extent, Kay had taught her. Yet the present situation was different. Perhaps they were being followed, but how could she verify the matter if their followers had masked their traces with some magic?

The answer was obvious to her, she wouldn't know.

In which case, her only support lied in Shirou.

Her friend, and also a user of magic.

The grip Shirou had on her arm tightened as they neared the next bend of the old building; the two increasing their pace, and approaching the open field of the manor that Merlin had walked them past previously.

She breathed in deeply, her trust in Shirou something that was unshakeable at this point. If he noticed something wrong, then she wouldn't doubt his judgement.

He to her was…something more? A brother perhaps?

It was the closest feeling she could compare it to, but she knew it was inadequate to truly describe it.

She didn't put any resistance as she quietly followed along by Shirou's side, her eyes becoming vigilant of her surroundings. To be honest, she was having flashbacks about that particular night when the beast had attacked. The air was similar, full of tension and a silent eeriness caused by the stretching darkness of the night.

She shivered, thinking back to how Merlin had made eye contact with Shirou before accompanying the Madam residing within the Vernier estate. Now that she pondered on it, she should have realized earlier that Merlin was warning Shirou to be careful. Another interpretation of the event though caused her to clench her fists.

_Protect her well._

Or something like that.

She was a burden that should not have been in the gathering of magi, her attendance only due to Merlin's precautions. Now that Merlin had to leave her alone, perhaps the responsibility now fell on Shirou?

Her face fell thinking up to here, but so too did her determination to understand magic rise. She would never again want to find herself as a burden. Especially to those she held dear.

Yet for now, she could not change the current situation.

She continued to follow Shirou and increase her pace along with his.

Just after Shirou walked out of the next bend and towards the open field, rays of dim starlight struck her face as she promptly followed.

It was already nearing the end of the summer season, but the flowers of the open field were in bloom, reflecting the light of the moon and creating a dazzling spectacle. Admittedly, she was lost in that sight, but Shirou was not. Instead, his eyes were focused on the figure of a woman standing within the field.

It was a magus that had attended the gathering of magi.

She was plain looking, with her hair braided into two separate bangs that reached down her chest. Her eyes were rather dull, and didn't seem to have that vibrant shine associated with a young woman of her age.

Wearing a simple dress in the night, the magus stared silently at their arrival.

This magus had been one of the few that remained unspoken throughout the entire gathering, but her presence now was alarming, given the situation.

Why would this magus be here when the gathering was already over?

Arturia, was not stupid. Based on how Shirou was acting and the appearance of this lady, she tensed as she fingered her sword.

The sound of buzzing entered her ears, and she swatted the bee flying around her in annoyance while Shirou still stared critically at the woman.

"My name is Lusanna Borzak," the woman introduced herself. "On behalf of the Borzak family, I would ask you to step aside and allow for the capture of the Magic Core for collective study."

When the situation was viewed from a magus's perspective, nothing really mattered aside from the pursuit of their own crafts. In which case, the research to be done and learned from a Magic Core may very well yield results in any field even if it was a wasted effort. Furthermore, during the gathering of magi, it was already set in stone beforehand that the magus families would aid each other in the pursuit of similar interest and related craft.

Wasn't this an exact case as described by the gathering of magi?

Looking at Shirou, his back had stiffened after Lusanna's words, but Arturia's reaction was incredulous.

After all, it was the first time she was referred to like an object by someone.

Frankly, she didn't really feel much about it despite a bit of outrage, but what she cared about were the implications. She knew that she possessed a Magic Core, and based on how Lusanna had spoken, she didn't wish to become an experiment.

As the air became heavier, more and more, she turned her attention towards Shirou, realizing what was about to happen in an instant.

Shirou would never agree with Lusanna's words

Shirou spoke out just as she expected.

"A Magic Core is not everything, nor can it be an answer to develop a mystery to the Root," Shirou spoke. "I will not allow you to do as you wish. My friend is his own person, and I fight by him."

She didn't know what to say after hearing Shirou's words, but if anything, the happiness nearly caused her to smile in the midst of the situation. Fortunately, she knew how to keep her face blank and emotions aside.

On the other side of the two, Lusanna stood unimpressed, her arms crossing behind her back as she slowly moved forward.

"How unfortunate then, but regardless of what you do, everything is for the betterment of magecraft. Isn't that the whole point of creating this so called 'Mage's Association?' To improve mage craft thought the power of collected minds. This situation is for that cause."

It was too late.

Because Shirou realized something from Lusanna's words.

She wasn't alone.

"W-What?!" Arturia gasped in surprise as the hand she had used to swat away the bee from before grew difficult to move as a silver liquid began to crawl up her hand and down her body.

Unexpectedly, when she had first swatted at the bee, the silver liquid that had gathered on the bee's back had fallen onto her hand and began rapidly expanding.

It was magic.

Just as Shirou had been able to do the impossible in her youth, she was experiencing something similar once again, but with an entirely different result. She had grown naive in regards to magic and the unknown as she was accustomed to the less dangerous magic utilized by Shirou and Merlin who never placed any murderous intent into their crafts. Instead, using it as a means to teach when directed at her. Yet the feeling she obtained from the silver liquid and the bee still floating idly around her was full of ill intent. Before she knew it, she had already been immobilized.

Shirou immediately grew infuriated, she could see it from his eyes despite his outwardly calm demeanor.

Shirou attempted to pull her close as he seemed to realize something, but before he could even take action, the sliver liquid restraining her did first; the liquid dragging her across the grass to stop just short from Lord Archibald who stared at the scene impassively.

Directly beside Lord Archibald was the struggling form of Efret attempting to break free from an entire ball of silver liquid that encased it.

The more Efret struggled, the smaller Efret's body became as it exerted its power.

Shirou could no longer hold himself back, and she could tell.

How could he when she could clearly remember him telling Efret to wait outside as Merlin, Shirou, and herself entered the building of the gathering of magi. This decision was due to Efret's size, but it could clearly be seen that if Shirou had just dismissed Efret then and there, then Efret would not have been caught in such a situation.

It was a mistake.

Just like her own.

She cursed inwardly as she struggled against her bindings, but to no avail.

The silver liquid bound to her, restraining her and clinging around her like shackles as it began to harden. No matter how she tore at them, they would not break.

Shivers ran down her spine as Lord Archibald's gaze continued to assess her, looking up and down.

A silence filled the air as one by one, more and more magi appeared in the open field, solidifying their stance on the matter. A Magic Core was just too tempting to pass up, and Merlin was nowhere to be seen. Yet neither was the Madam from the Vernier estate.

Arturia was appalled by the sheer number, a pit growing in her stomach. There had to be at least thirty or more of them.

Shirou glanced at those around him, his expression becoming resolved. Words were no longer necessary.

Suddenly, a brilliant light seemed to emit from Shirou.

His hands were held outwards, an expression of clear exertion on his face as a sword flickered into appearance in his hand; each flicker sending stronger and stronger waves of radiance that washed away the dark of the night, revealing even more magi hiding in the shadows.

They were the magi of higher nobility and standing in regards to the elite magus families. They did not wish to lower themselves with menial work, and thus decided to simply watch. Lord Archibald could be associated with this group, but he had acted due to his own interests.

As the sword continued to flicker and flicker, becoming more and more tangible, less and less of the attention was being drawn towards Arturia, and more towards Shirou.

How could the magi present not know what it was that was forming in Shirou's hands, especially the more prominent Magus heads of the numerous families.

Noble Phantasm.

An unimaginable weapon that even the prominent heads of a magus household could not boast of possessing aside from the Fraga who still spent the majority of their time in seclusion.

Lord Archibald felt a feeling of slight discomfort, realizing the turn the situation was taking.

It was only intended to be a short, but significant matter to procure a Magic Core for in depth study, yet it had escalated to serious levels. From the moment Merlin had claimed the two as his student, he knew that there was probably something far more to them. Initially, he had thought solely of the student in possession of a Magic Core, but now…

The majority of the magi presesnt including Lusanna Borzak, immeiatly began speculating Shirou's backing. How else could Shirou possess a Noble Phantasm if not for him belonging to a magus family as prominent as the Archibald, Barthomeloi, and even Borzak?

What was truly odd was the method in which Shirou was releasing the Noble Phantasm. In the eyes of the other magi present, none could connect the craft with the widely known and common Gradation Air. A variant of it called Tracing. The notion was just too absurd.

With a final flicker, the sword fully materialized in arcs of crackling lightning like energy. Smoke came off the weapon, giving the appearance as if it was newly forged.

No one moved initially until a select few released a breath.

"H-He can't possibly use it," one of the magi insisted, deciding to voice out a gamble.

After all, humans could not possibly use a Noble Phantasm unless the Noble Phantasm had been passed down from generation to generation through the process of a bloodline. From a generation that had just obtained a Noble Phantasm, it would be extremely difficult to use.

With this in mind, a few of the magi eased the tension in their shoulders, remaining firm in their stance, but neglecting to see how the other prominent magus families took several steps back.

Seeing that the magi were not releasing Arturia, Shirou had no choice despite knowing what it would mean to use a Noble Phantasm in his situation.

Yet staring at Arturia's face, he could hardly care about any risks to himself.

The sword was swung.

The intent released.

"O blessed sword," Shirou closed his eyes, seeming to be in deep thought as he reached the arc of the swing. " **Durandal**!"

His intent was clear in Arturia's eyes.

To save her.

To save Efret.

A pale white wave spread out from the sword's slash, moving in a horizontal trajectory that swept up many magi in its path. It was like an incinerator, one moment a magus stood standing, and in the next, he was reduced to nothing after being bathed in the pale white.

It was Holy Energy befitting the construct said to house three miracles of God.

Durandal the Peerless, Holy Sword and Noble Phantasm of the Paladin, Roland of Charlemagne.

Lusanna's and many other magi who were not caught in the strike immediately backed further away. It was due to their own precautions that they were not within range, having retreated the moment they recognized the emergence of a Noble Phantasm.

As the sword light conintued outward, it met with the restraints that bound Arturia after completely annihilating a few more magi that it came in contact with, stopping at that exact moment.

Those restrains that bound her could not possibly withstand the strength of a Noble Phantasm, regardless of the grade.

Upon contact, the restraints that bound Arturia shattered into hard pieces that lay scattered along the ground as Lord Archibald retreated several steps back. Releasing Efret, he then regathered his silver liquid in defense for another attack.

Arturia was now free.

Yet Arturia didn't move, her body stiff as if frozen, and staring wide eyed in a single direction.

_No, NO!_

Helpless could not even describe how she was feeling at the moment. She had just witnessed something she knew would go down in the history of the magical community itself, and now here she was endangering Shirou once again.

Thinking about it now, it was the same for the incident with the beast in her childhood.

"STOP IT!"

Her voice fell on deaf ears.

The other Magi around her who had survived the attack were already too entranced in their battle.

In their eyes, what Shirou had just displayed moments prior was a clear threat, and from the hesitation in Shirou's strike, his true capabilities were still far higher than what he let on. The only reason for the hesitation in his previous attack being Arturia who was still held captive and in strike range.

This was not an adversary that should be left to live. What would happen should Shirou seek retribution? The other small-time magi from lesser nobility didn't want to think about it, and besides they had already entered this boat, and there was no getting off after offending the students of the Wizard Merlin. It was best to accomplish the task then go into hiding for several decades with the research material as planned.

The shape Shirou was in was not hopeless, just bleak as he was momentarily drained due to his exertion, making it difficult for him to move in a timely manner let alone defend.

Regardless, as the magi closed in on Shirou, their mage craft causing ripples to form in the air, his eyes were still looking at Arturia, urging her to run after he had already broken the confinements that bound her.

Arturia nearly choked from the gasp that came from within her, her eyes watering from her anxiety. No one aside from her family that she could think of would go this far for her.

_"_ _Arturia,"_

She could still remember the first time he called her name.

The kindness of his smile.

The nature of his virtue and honour.

And for the unknown feeling she had buried in her heart calling for _death_ to the enemies, something she had never wished so strongly of before.

She would never let these bastards go for what they've done!

 _"_ _Then I will be your Knight,"_ the simple phrase from an innocent youth long passed sent tremors through her mind.

At that moment, it was like something snapped inside of her, and then there was power.

The sudden utilization and actualization of a Magic Core.

"I will _never_ abandon you," her voice was hoarse, but her expression was stern as she unsheathed her blade with unsteady hands. The restraints that had once bound her and were laying in pieces on the ground were obliterated by the aura she exuded. "My sword is henceforth your sword. This is my oath," Her body trembled in rage as she took in the enemies still charging at Shirou. "I will fight by your side."

_As you have done for me!_

_And I will slaughter all that get between us!_


	24. Chapter 24

The leaves rustled in the ensuing wind, a cacophony of steel, blood, and emotions coagulating and stifling the air.

Shirou didn't care, instead he was pressed to react in time towards the approaching attacks and the magi encircling him. Already they had blocked his view of Arturia, and the anxiety was causing him to panic. He had seen the expression on her face, and heard the desperation in her voice just before she escaped his view. But at this point, all that he hoped for was that she would listen to him.

To run away.

He had agreed to fight alongside her, yet the situation was different. He had agreed in the context that who they would be facing would be regular knights and people, not Magi. The danger they posed to Arturia was magnitudes greater than even the worst of any war. Especially now that they knew she possessed a Magic Core.

The Durandal in his hands flashed with a dull glow, thin wisps of magical energy trailing from the sword's edge, and releasing a splendor that was unmatched by any mortal weapon.

None dared approach him lightly. Which was why aside from the few magi specialized in close combat, the rest had sent out ranged attacks to whittle away at him.

A magical storm was racing towards him and his body was still sluggish from tracing Durandal, the exertion draining him of too much energy at one time.

The strength of a Noble Phantasm originated from the crystallization of its legend. Then what would it mean if a Noble Phatasm was created before its time? It was something he had just tested for the first time in his anxiousness to save the woman who meant the world to him. In the end, he had expended far more effort to trace Durandal when compared to other Noble Phantasms like Gae Bolg or Hrunting whose legends were already set in stone.

It was something he had to do. After all, none could match the efficiency possessed by the Miracles of the sword of the Holy Paladin of Charlemagne. Not only was it strong, but it allowed him to bring no danger to Arturia and Efret as he prayed to actualize the miracle in his attack. Other Noble Phantasms would not allow him this level of selection, annihilating anything in their paths.

But it came with a price.

He staggered in the face of the oncoming attacks, forcing his body to move despite needing a short moment to recover. Yet his efforts proved too slow.

The first attack to reach him was a spike of hardened earth that was moments away from piercing though his skin before suddenly slackening and crumbling away.

The second to reach him was a magus who had a stretched hand encased in magic about to stab into Shirou's chest.

Victory was clear in this magus's eyes, and all it would take was but a mere half second before impact.

Yet the expression on the magus's face began to shift, distorting horribly as an incomparable source of wind brutally caved his chest in and sent the man flying.

_Boom!_

The Magus continued to tumble across the ground, long since dead.

In front of Shirou stood Arturia, her expression livid before growing steadily neutral in the tenseness of the situation. Recalling how close Shirou had been to being injured again, her expression began to shift.

The attacks by the magi suddenly stopped; their intentions to gauge the strength of this new variable in their plans. It would seem as if the owner of the Magic Core had suddenly grown into a threat.

"If you touch him," Arturia's voice was heated, her expression murderous. "I'll kill you."

The hands she was holding her sword with were shaking from how tightly she gripped them. It was evident that she was unused to killing another, but wouldn't hesitate to act should her warning be ignored.

In any case, looking at the corpses bleeding out over the ground, she had already set a frightening example.

This was the strength of a Magic Core.

The strength of a possessor of Dragon's blood.

Energy flooded through Arturia's body, coursing up and down her arms and increasing the grip she had on her sword. It was one personally reinforced by Shirou himself. Sharp enough to cut stone like a hot knife through butter, and durable enough to endure excavating itself from flesh, bone, and steel, it was the perfect accompaniment to her strength.

It was a sword capable of withstanding the sudden burst of mana throbbing through Arturia's veins. She could feel it. The ache of her body as she unknowingly experienced this technique for the first time.

Mana Burst. A skill that increased the performance of the caster by infusing one's weapons and body with Magical Energy and instantly expelling it, creating the effect of a jet blast. However, this ability utilized a great deal of energy

Due to the sheer magical power Arturia had stored within her, she couldn't even feel a dip in her strength.

Having bought time for Shirou to recover, it didn't take long before he was suddenly at Arturia's side, striking down magi after magi attempting to encircle them.

It was at that point that they were separated, pulled apart by an unseen force generated from the magic of one of the magi.

Arturia was the first to discover the user of this magecraft, and without hesitation, she picked up a rock and threw it.

With the use of Mana Burst, the rock was equivalent to a bullet utilized in Shirou's previous timeline, penetrating a hole directly through the magus's chest.

"What?" Lusanna sucked in a breath at the sudden display and retracted her bees monitoring the area. She was of the Borzak family, a prominent magus family known for the use of their bee familiars. In her case, it was a bee of a pale white colour that dripped a clear corrosive liquid on the ground from its stinger.

Lusanna immediately began backing away to gain distance away from the battlefield, yet was forced to splutter out a curse as a blade whizzed past her ear. "Bitch!" Lusanna wiped of the blood trailing down her cheek and clutched tightly onto the lock of hair that fell from her head.

The air pressure alone from Arturia's strike had cut into Lusanna's skin, drawing a flesh wound.

Lusanna's cursing was a mistake. She wasn't facing another magus, she was facing a future Knight. In the words of Sir Ector: Words were unnecessary.

The second strike came before Lusanna could even discern it. The absurd level of magical capacity Arturia possessed allowing her a continues use of Mana Burst.

Lusanna was hard pressed to dodge this time. Arturia's speed and power were like a wide and oncoming horse-drawn carriage slamming against an ant.

Almost as a reflex, Lusanna sent an instruction to her bee, a stream of acid showering over her. Subsequently, Arturia was forced to abandon her attack, lest the acid touch her too. Diggin her feet into the ground, Arturia then began to back pedal, spinning as she crouched and sliced a part a man that was attempting to attack her from behind.

Blood splattered across her face, leaving large droplets that rolled down her cheeks as she stared emotionlessly at Lusanna. It was almost as if she wasn't human. There was no blood lust in her gaze, nor was there any grief, mercy, or indignation. It was just utterly blank, Arturia having fallen into a battle-ready state.

 _What the hell is wrong with this bitch?_ Lusanna swallowed staring at the scene, and then realizing that she herself was facing this very monster with a Magic Core. Looking down at her arms, she realized that she was trembling, a paleness forming over her face.

It was then that she met eye contact with Lord Archibald staring at the scene from a distance not too far away. As the both of them had come from prominent magus families, the two had once had dealings with each other. It only took a glance and a small moment for Lusanna's plea of help to be acknowledged by Lord Archibald.

However, it took even less time for Shirou to intervene, blocking Lord Archibald's path while leaving a trail of sword light from the Durandal still in his hands.

Lord Archibald paused, and considered his next steps, shaking his head at Lusanna.

Lusanna's lip twitched in the infinitely short exchange and decided it would be best if she made her move first. Her hands then went over her mouth where she then placed two fingers inside, pushing her tongue up to the roof of her mouth.

Gagging and choking sounds soon followed, but not once did Lusanna's calm eyes leave Arturia's. The magic seal beneath her tongue began to activate, a buzzing noise originating from her bee familiar and echoing from within her mouth.

The mandibles on Lusanna's bee familiar suddenly split apart, a thin film of moist saliva lingering between the separated ends.

Arturia tightened the grip she had on her sword. Her instincts were telling her to be extremely weary. No matter how disturbing the scene in front of her was, she could not allow herself to be distracted.

_Bzzzz._

A ringing was originating in her ears, and it was disturbing her.

She felt liquid trickling down her neck, and quickly she raised a hand to swipe away at it, only to realize that it was blood.

_Bzzzzzz._

The buzzing was getting worse, the wingbeats from Lusanna's familiar becoming more frequent.

The hand she had used to wipe away the blood soon fell onto her ears, the source of where the blood was coming from, yet she couldn't detect anything wrong with her. She could still hear, and her sense of balance wasn't off. Then what was going on?

She didn't hesitate.

Knowing that she was under the enemy's attack even from her distance away, Arturia immediately charged.

Mana Burst exploded with all of its pent-up power, propelling her forward at unimaginable speeds beyond that of a human. Her strength soared along with her defense by several times over.

Dirt stuck to the heels of her feet, her arms propping themselves into a position for a swing.

Lusanna having never taken her eyes off of Arturia was already moving from the moment she noticed the shifts in Arturia's stance. Lusanna's legs spread apart, her brows creasing as she hunched over. Her jaw suddenly dislodged, her mouth hanging open as a swarm of bees shot out in an ending stream that Arturia was unable to avoid.

She slammed right into the wall of buzzing bees, swinging away with her sword. It was then that she noticed something. Sweat began to form on her brow, her body growing increasingly uncomfortable at the sudden emergence of heat.

Her clothes stuck closely to her skin, dragging against it and increasing the feeling of discomfort.

The bees were madly vibrating their abdomens around her, forcing her to realize the extent of the danger she was. She would be cooked alive.

Mana Burst once again exploded out from within her, the sudden expulsion of magical power used to drive her up and directly out of the swarm. Yet arriving outside, she noticed that Lusanna was gone, and the bees that had once been attacking her floating away in a direction south of her position.

Arturia said nothing. After all, magi were still zoning in on her.

Seeing Arturia's situation, Shirou sighed in relief, noticing the danger level had significantly decreased around Arturia who had sustained injuries.

In that case, he turned all his attention on Lord Archibald who stood opposed to him.

Lord Archibald stared at Shirou and then stared back towards Arturia, a frown marring his deceptably neutral face.

The silver liquid around Lord Archibald then began to move along the ground, forming a sleek wall that acted as a wave that immediately moved to encompass Shirou.

Shirou saw through the true purpose of the attack. It was solely to push him out of the way because behind him was Arturia fighting against the other magi. All it would take to capture her was to prevent her from using her skills by immobilizing her within the magic laced silver liquid.

A sea of the stuff just might be enough to even stop Arturia.

Shirou acted quickly. Based on the expression on Lord Archibald's face, the man didn't expect him to be able to ward of this attack. After all, physical strikes would only be fazed through.

Then what if he could cut the magic itself?

Just before he was swept within the wave, a red spear appeared within his hands, the Durandal in his other fading away.

Lord Archibald looked towards the scene with little concern, his gaze shifting quickly towards the target to be acquired. He would subdue her, and then quickly leave. Even if she had a power strong enough to cleave others magi in half with a single stroke, it would do nothing in the face of a liquid substance.

Unexpectedly though, a ripple formed in his silver liquid. His brows furrowed minutely, wondering if he had lost control over his craft. After all, for a moment he could feel his influence on the silver liquid falter almost completely.

Such a thing had never happened before.

Lord Archibald's posture quickly straightened, his lip twitching as a portion of the once liquid silver became solid and shattered, revealing the red tip of a spear.

_A-Another Noble Phantasm?_

Lord Archibald couldn't help but inwardly balk before uncrossing his arms and using them to directly control his silver liquid.

It moved like water, attacking in high pressure jet streams.

Yet Shirou blocked by rotating the spear in a large circle.

Lord Archibald was beginning to question himself on his actions. Incident after incident continued to occur in a mission he had deemed inconsequential. It should have been easy. Hell, it actually was.

From before the fight had even began, the Magic Core had already fallen into his grasp. But it was all taken away by the emergence of the boy he neglected completely on his first exchange.

Now though, he would have to reassess his thoughts on the boy.

Shirou knew nothing of what Lord Archibald was thinking. He just focused solely on the attacks surrounding him.

His magical reserves were not like Arturia's. Having fought so many other magi, and even traced a Noble Phantasm that had yet to exist, it was almost too much for him to maintain. It was the reason why amongst all the Noble Phantasms he could have had utilized to neutralize Lord Archibald's attack, Gae Dearg was the one he decided on. It was simply because its effect of negating magic was something that didn't require activation. It was a passive ability.

At this point, all he had to rely on was his own skill. Unknowingly, because of his near depleted condition, something began to stir.

As Shirou continued to ward away the attacks of Lord Archibald, a symbol etched into the very hunting leathers Shirou wore began to glow with a luster comparable to that of polished silver. It began from the base of the crudely drawn wings curved upwards to encircle the runic-like lines centered at the middle of the crest before traveling up to the long protrusions at its sides.

It was the activation of a Magic Crest; magical power flowing in indiscernible waves into an ignorant Shirou and out into his surroundings.

Efret's eyes widened, it's beak opening to screech at the sky. Having been caught unaware and captured, it had been useless throughout the entire fight. Now, now things were different. The magical energy fell over Efret, coating over it and permeating through its skin and into its body.

The wisps of fire around an injured Efret began flickering from a dull orange to a fiery red, its wings beginning to beat as the anger in its gaze grew.

_Ba-bump._

_Ba-bump._

Veins began to bulge, feathers began to flutter, and talons shifted into serrated arcs of pulsing azure emitting an agonizing heat.

_Ba-dump._

_Ba-dump._

Long ago there was a folk tale of old known to the inhabitants of the late town of Argale. It told of the coming of the Great Shadow.

Look not to the ground, and

Fear not the greed of man.

The skies, the skies.

Look up above.

Towards the roaring crackle of the Red Tide.

A caw resounded in the night, a beacon of light blazing in the darkness.

A body that was once small had become larger and larger.

_Ba-BuMp._

_BA-BUMP._

It was audible. The sound of a heart-beat echoing out.

Night turned into day, a blazing red sun engulfing the horizon of the entirety of the small town of Roan.

The natives of the America's called such a Phantasmal Beast a Fire Bird, others, in the lands across the seas, a **Phoenix**.

One of the most iconic and renowned beasts of legend able to be mentioned in the same breath as a Dragon.

And its name,

Was Efret.

A burst of heat shot off from the bird, covering it behind a wall of rapidly expanding hellfire.

It was a torrent of flame the likes of which reduced a man into ashes that continued to burn as embers in the wind.

Everyone on the battlefield gave pause, even Shirou was momentarily stunned, his eyes trailing down towards the flow of magical power he had just tapped into from the Ashton Magic Crest. At that moment, he realized that although he didn't have as much proficiency in utilizing the Magic Crest, Efret did. And it was through this that he finally understood why it was that Efret had suddenly grown in size.

The Magic Crest possessed a massive portion of Efret's strength.

And that strength was terrifying.

With a flap, the world burned.

With a step, the ground melted.

It was like suddenly stepping into the heart of a volcano and meeting the devil.

Efret had become huge, long enough to engulf the entirety of the abandoned estate with its wing span alone.

Lord Archibald could never have had known that what he had once subdued prior to the battle was a beast this tyrannical. Of the later generations of the Archibald family, none would ever surpass this achievement even amongst other prominent magus families.

All attacks towards Shirou and Arturia were suddenly redirected towards the increasingly aggravated Efret. It had seen the situation Shirou was placed in.

Seen the way the magi had targeted its precious young master.

The call for blood soared through its veins like a thick adrenaline.

Efret cocked its head back, not even batting an eye as the numerous magical attacks were burned away by the flames that surrounded it.

It was then when Efret's large body disappeared that the magi knew, they had made the wrong decision.

A muffled scream reverberated in the night, flames slowly crawling up the arms and legs of many magi that refused to be put out. Almost as soon as the flames touched, the area inflicted would be nothing more than blackened ash.

"Tch," Lord Archibald reacted faster than anyone else, having been one of the main targets of Efret's sudden attack. The silver liquid around him had formed a protective dome to shield him from the brunt of the fire, yet it couldn't stop the heat from gradually permeating through his defenses.

Lord Archibald quickly made the prompt decision to leave. A Magic Core was not worth his life if he was not present to research it, or be in a position to leave it in his family's hands.

Just as he was leaving though, his expression shifted into an ugly frown. Steam was emitting from his protective dome, four distinct claw marks distorting the smoothness of his silver liquid.

Before he could even react, the heated claws had sliced straight though his defenses, stabbing him in the chest at four different locations. The expression on his face was one of rare surprise and irritation even at his own supposed death.

Yet things were never that easy.

Lord Archibald's body soon began to melt, transforming into a pool of silver liquid that evaporated in the flames.

Efret's gaze gradually became annoyed, tossing away the evaporating blob of silver liquid within its talons. It then appeared directly above Shirou and Arturia, wrapping the two beneath its pinioned wings. From within, neither Shirou or Arturia were affected by the swaying pillars of flame.

In the middle of the scorching flames, Efret appeared to be a monster with a strength that was unimaginable. It was more than enough to get many magi to decide to beat a hasty retreat as Lord Archibald had. After all, if a member of one of the most prominent Magus Families was rendered to such a state, then what would it mean for magi of lower rank?

Seeing the bloodlust in Efrets's eyes, the answer could only be one.

Death.

Many began to flee despite the opportunity they had to attack an exhausted Shirou and Arturia. It was simply not worth their lives, and besides, they would probably go into hiding later for their actions. Might as well try to get as far away as possible.

Still, based on the expressions of a few of them, it was clear that things were far from over.

Efret glanced in their direction, and the few that had the tenacity to stay behind instantly drew back. The scene of Efret drowning the area into a sea of flames was still etched into their minds. The pungent smell of burnt flesh irritating their nostrils.

Reluctantly, they all began making their exit. The area fell into a tranquil silence, the sound of crickets and bugs the only sound in the devastated field.

Soon after, Efret took to the skies, indicating to Shirou that it would warn him should any other magus draw near.

The two left alone, Arturia finally took the time to witness the results of her actions, her face paling after each body she glanced over. Pursing her lips, she said nothing, holding back the feeling of nausea that suddenly began to well up from within her. She had been taught by Sir Ector.

_She was strong._

_Something like this wouldn't affect her._

_A King must endure._

Her expression frosted, the dried blood that stained her clothes and clung to her hair making her appear like an apathetic tyrant. Yet her expression softened as her gaze fell discreetly over Shirou, a tingling warmth originating from her stomach that heated her face.

For a moment, she just stood there, lost in the feeling.

He was in front of her with his back facing her, staring up into the skies for any signs from Efret. Even now he was still vigilant despite his injuries, and she knew for whose sake he was doing it for. And that was all that she needed to know to have no regrets or doubts about her actions.

If he could do this much for her, then she would do the same, no matter the cost.

So long as he was safe.

She was breathing heavily, her eyes drooping as she staggered on her feet.

Wordlessly, Shirou moved to support her, placing her arm around his neck and holding her close as he hoisted her up with his shoulder. Even amidst the violence of the battlefield, she still smelled of lilacs.

He couldn't help but want to berate her on her actions, but he couldn't find the heart to do it because it was entirely for a selfish reason. He was scared. Scared that something might have had happened to her. He had already lost her once, and that feeling alone was enough to drive him to search endlessly.

Yet, closing his eyes, he could vividly picture the outline of the woman who had once fought by his side.

He sucked in a breath, his grip around Arturia involuntarily strengthening as his heart decided to let the matter go. Unexpectedly, she returned the action, pulling herself close with her arm and resting her chin on his shoulder as the two walked.

"Shirou," she said wearily, her exhaustion beginning to affect her. "Are you okay?" Was the question she asked.

Rather than herself, she was more concerned about him.

He didn't respond, just nodded his head as Arturia's grip around him began to slacken.

After having used her Magic Core for the first time, the exhaustion was getting to her, making her every movement sluggish and weak. The lion cub that had remained on her head let out a pitiful roar, urging her on, but was generally ineffective in actually aiding her.

Still, supported by Shirou, she was able to walk for a moment longer.

"They won't come back, will they?" Arturia asked, her eyelids drooping. Her chin was still rested on Shirou's shoulder, and at this point, the majority of her weight was being carried by him. After speaking, she fell silent all together.

Feeling her warmth, and knowing of what she had just been through because of the selfishness of others, Shirou soon pulled her onto his back and off of her feet. She didn't offer much protest, her arms wrapping around his neck, and her head lulling over his shoulder, her cheeks touching his. Soft mumbles of indignation rolled out from her mouth, but he ignored them and held her firmly before she soon relaxed within his hold. The softness of her breath was soon the only sound in the dim-lit evening.

"No," he whispered softly under the watch of Arturia's bleary gaze. His expression was increasingly cold at that moment as he put to memory every single magus he had seen harboring animosity.

In the end, only three words left his mouth as he and Arturia left the open field.

"No," he repeated. "They won't."

* * *

The Madam stayed silent watching the scene that had unfolded; her expression beneath her veil, a shadow of the jealousy and loathing she kept within her.

"A pity," she spoke through clenched teeth, her eyes narrowing as she saw Arturia and the young magus support each other on their way out of the battlefield. This young magus was named Shirou, but she neglected to memorize it when she had first heard Merlin call his name. Now though, she couldn't help but place more importance on him after what she had just scene.

If she wasn't so preoccupied, perhaps she might have tried to nip him in the bud to prevent future troubles, but even then, she realized it would be difficult given the Noble Phantasms Shirou seemed to possess.

She had been too caught up in fighting Merlin at the time, and was also a considerable distance away to see just how those Noble Phantasms appeared, but regardless, they were authentic.

In the end, what kind of ancient magus family did he come from? Given his ability to possess Noble Phantasms, his family's lineage should not be any inferior to that of the Fraga family of magi. In fact, it could be even more prestigious.

The fact that Shirou was entrusted with Noble Phantasms meant that he must have had held some significance to his family. Meaning retaliation from a third party was a possibility should anything happen to him. This line of thought lead to a single question, was it beneficial to cross paths with him?

Her lips pursed, realizing how much more complicated the situation regarding Arturia became with the addition of a new variable.

And there was only a single individual who could have introduced such a variable.

She then turned to her right. "You cursed Wizard," she seethed.

Merlin paid the Madam no heed, the sword in his hand placed lightly against a barrier shielding the Madam's neck.

Judging from appearances alone, the clothes Merlin had worn were now in tatters. On the other hand, the Madam didn't seem to have so much as a scratch, yet it was clear who had gotten the advantage in the earlier exchange.

The Madam sneered in frustration, already plotting on how to handle the troublesome Wizard in front of her, yet unable to come up with anything. She could only resign herself to defending against the pressure Merlin was exuding. Even now she couldn't help but curse bitterly about the fact that the self-proclaimed strongest Wizard would be so proficient with a sword. It was infuriating.

She supposed she had no choice but to break this stalemate.

All around the nearby area surrounding the two, pot holes and broken debris were scattered everywhere. Remnants of splintered trees and burnt grass still stood erected, the lingering smoke rising slowly into the air and creating a haziness illuminated by the moon.

Merlin discarded a piece of torn fabric clinging to his sword arm, sparks flying from where his sword made contact with the Madam's barrier.

"Didn't expect my student to be so capable now did you?" Merlin rebuked, a playfulness in his womanizing eyes that infuriated the Madam.

After all, when one looked at Merlin's appearance it appeared as if the man had come out of the grinder, his clothes torn in various places. However, the Madam knew that he wasn't truly injured. Flesh wounds were all she had dealt, leading to the current stalemate.

"A student reflects the teacher, and you're not looking so great yourself," the Madam remarked, her fingers weaving magic to force the edge of Merlin's blade away from her neck. Even if the sword was blocked by a barrier, she knew better than anyone that Merlin would be able to bypass it given the opportunity.

It was time to act.

She wasn't a woman that was easy to handle after all.

Her magic visibly coalesced around her body, appearing in waves of shimmering purple fog-like haze. The grass beneath her feet began to whittle away, the ground darkening and appearing like the blackened colour of the pith left behind by the plants.

The strength Merlin had in his sword hand increased in an attempt to banish away the foul energy. He even acted as if the Madam had made no attempt on him at all, but it was clear from the tightening of his facial features that he was under strain.

The Madam could only click her tongue. It was no longer a fruitful endeavor to remain any longer. The magi attacking Arturia had failed, and any attempt on her part would prove futile with Merlin's interference.

The situation was entirely out of her predictions. She knew that she would be able to escape from Merlin's grasp in a fight, or even get the upper hand, and this was the reason she took the risk to confront him. With the information of the Magic Core in the heads of the magi, it was almost certain that a few would move against the infuriating little girl playing knight. Yet all this was assuming that Merlin had only the magic he was known for to rely on. It was unexpected that Merlin would now have her at sword point, and even more unexpected that Arturia had been able to garner the help of such a talented young magus.

It must have had been all Merlin's fault. She wished that she could just dispose of the Wizard, but doing so with her current strength would prove detrimental as they were near evenly matched. This was why it was important to keep abilities hidden. It would give less time for the other to prepare, and increase the chance of victory. In that regard, she had already lost out to Merlin by revealing one of her abilities as all Merlin had revealed was that he was proficient with a blade.

A hate filled light entered her pupils, shining with a dull luster as her mind lamented the unfairness of the world.

Despite resisting the effects of the Madam's magic, Merlin decided to stare back at Arturia, concerned on her behalf.

It was because of this action that allowed the Madam to escape Merlin's sword point.

The ground had given way beneath the two's feet do to the magic the Madam was releasing.

Immediately, the Madam took the opportunity to escape into the woods surrounding the abandoned manor.

Still, just before she left, she saw a contemplative expression on Merlin's face, thereby drawing her curiosity as Merlin did not pursue her immediately.

She turned towards the direction of Merlin's gaze and paused in her strides.

Merlin was still staring at Arturia and Shirou.

Initially the Madam had assumed that the two were only supporting each other due to their injuries, but looking closer, there appeared to be something more. The gaze Arturia was using to stare up at Shirou was too warm, too bright, the light of the moon illuminating the beauty of her face. It seemed as if nothing else mattered to Aturia aside from the boy who supported her, tentatively holding her close to ease the burden on her legs. Yet rather than stubbornly push Shirou away to stand on her own two feet, Arturia instead reciprocated the action; putting strength into the arm slung around Shirou's neck, and subsequently resting her chin on his shoulder.

The action was entirely unbecoming of a future Knight yet Arturia hardly seemed to notice.

Despite the dirt, grime, and blood staining her features, if anyone were to look at Arturia now, it would be impossible to mistake her as the boy she was playing off as.

There was a sort of tender air about Arturia at this moment, like an ever-present feeling that affected the area around her and Shirou limping off in the night. Bruised, battered, and tired, but still content to be beside each other. The Madam focused solely on the expression on Arturia's face.

The opening and closing of her mouth, as if she was short of breath, and the way her lips trembled as a warm mist formed from the coldness of the evening after every exhalation, it was telling.

It was clear that Arturia was ignorant, or chose to neglect her wants.

Either way, the Madam was a mature woman. How could the Madam not discern the affections of another woman no matter how dubious Arturia's upbringing was in a household of males?

Watching the two interact even as she left pursued by Merlin, for once, the Madam couldn't help but smile inwardly.

Well, wasn't this rather interesting?


	25. Chapter 25

It was a tranquil sort of calm; where the thumping of his footsteps atop the grass, and the steadiness of Arturia's breath on the back of his neck made to take his mind off of the current circumstance. Strands of her long hair that were no longer tied up into a bun after the previous activities fell down to hang steadily just over his face. His left eye twitched as a few strands assailed it, but he disregarded them in favour of readjusting his grip on her as she lost herself more and more to the sweet embrace of sleep. She inadvertently let out a small jumble of garbled words of displeasure from the movement, yet he knew they were only because of her exhausted state. Her head soon found purchase lulling atop his shoulder as she once again began to let out soft breaths. He felt the way her arms subconsciously tightened around him, seeking heat from the cold night breeze.

He couldn't fault her though as it was just nearing the end of Summer at around late September; the days warm, but the evenings still chilling in the flat terrain surrounding Roan.

She wasn't wearing the armour he was used to seeing on Saber, and instead, she was wearing the green tunic and brown trousers that Merlin had gifted to her for use. They were embroidered, long lines of arching golden patterns and designs that spoke of the nobility of the era evident to see. Just from the feel of them alone on his back, he could tell that their material was not made of rough linen or wool. Rather, it felt more like silk, the kind where one could derive pleasure from running a hand down its surface. In any case, it was thin.

He didn't mind her actions though, even when her face soon burrowed itself at the nape of his neck. At that moment, he quickened his breathing and held his muscles taught to increase blood flow, letting his body emit more heat in exchange for a light sheen of sweat.

It was in this state, that he continued walking.

The magi he had faced before who had been after their own interests didn't dare approach carelessly.

If Efret still surveying from the sky wasn't enough, then the swords floating around him at a distance of ten meters surely would. They weren't Noble Phantasms, but they were Mystic Codes never before seen in Arturia's timeline. Each of them emitted a mystery that caused one's mind to momentarily blank. Such was the case when he had stumbled upon a Magi hidden within the foliage away from Efret's view. Clearly this Magi had been waiting for him as a Mystic Code of the Magi's own was present in a hand.

Yet clearly, the Magi didn't understand who he was dealing with.

A sharp glint appeared in Shirou's eyes, and the swords around him surrounded the Magi before the Magic could even release himself from his stupor.

He showed no mercy; even the regret that bubbled up from within his heart was snuffed out from the reminder of the girl he shouldered on his back. She shouldn't have been so exhausted or come so close to a life worse than death for the sake of another's greed. If she hadn't been able to utilize her Magic Core then…

He didn't want to think about it, and immediately, a sword descended.

Blood mixed into the dirt, showering the grass and the tall reeds with a heavy tint of crimson. The pungent smell of iron wafted into the air, smoking bits of flesh eroding away and becoming ash by a quiet flame.

"Y- _You_ ," the magi rasped, stumbling back from the hole that suddenly appeared on his chest. "W-Who are you?"

Though dying, the Magi didn't plead for mercy. It was below most magi anyway as to be a Magus is to walk with death.

He didn't answer.

As far as he was concerned, there may be other Magi nearby and away from Efret's sight who could listen to him with a type of magecraft.

What he had done and shown tonight had made the Magi question themselves. Should they risk going against him? After all, just relying on the fact that he had utilized a Noble Phantasm was enough to put him on the same level as the reclusive Fraga Family of the Moonlit World and that was because they too possessed a Noble Phantasm. Even in the future, the Fraga Family was well respected. In any case, his current appearance was young, and the fact that he carried a Noble Phantasm would mean one of two things to the other Magi. One he had been abandoned and left to his own, and two, he was highly valued to whatever family of Magi he belonged to.

Furthermore, there was Efret.

The Phantasmal Beast of the Ashton Family.

It was probably the first in history that a Phantasmal Beast would act as a familiar. Not only would attacking him mean that a Magi may have to face a supposed backing of another line of Magi, but Efret would have to be taken into account as well.

Speaking of which, the Ashton Magic Crest began to cease its supply of magical energy as Efret descended down to perch on a tree branch, its size diminishing to normal. It's eyes though were blood shot as it glared at the little lion that had moved from Arturia's head to rest on top of his own.

_"_ _Lord, I kill weasel?"_

For some reason, when he heard Efret speak in his mind, he could tell that all he would need to do to get Efret to take action was a single careless affirmation.

He quickly turned down Efret's insistent ramblings as he could recall that the little lion cub was quite fond of Arturia. That, and the lion cub itself whimpered under Efret's glower. He quickly instructed for Efret to ease off its oppressive aura.

Noticing this, the lion cub seemed to believe that it itself had fended off Efret's ire; it glaring back at Efret goadingly, the young never fearing the unknown. Immediately, Efret began seething, yet it concealed its discontent as it recalled it being reprimanded.

He didn't notice this interaction though, as the lion cub was atop his head.

He resumed his walk back to his lodgings at Roan, Efret flying down to walk by his side.

The Ashtons and the mystery that surrounded that family. It was something that he knew he was going to have to deal with in the future. And everything started with that diary he had picked up. As soon as all the pressing events were over, he resolved himself to discover the mystery hidden within the 'Ashton Assassination.'

Ignorance was bliss, but sometimes not knowing doesn't mean you weren't involved.

* * *

When Merlin called to meet with him the next day, he didn't put much thought into it before the man asked him his opinion about the Magi's gathering.

More particularly, his thoughts about what a Mage's Association should function as and the authority it would have across the land.

Merlin had not given him such an opportunity before, so it was clear that Merlin had seen something about him that altered initial opinions. No longer was he just a young magus, but now he was a fully-fledged one, and that distinction was the difference between night and day.

The weather was a tad sweltering, the sun overhead pouring directly into the new meeting location of the Magi's gathering. This was where Merlin had brought him after their discussion in the morning. As Arturia was still exhausted from the previous night, she hadn't come, still asleep on her bed.

It was a secluded location this time held together in the forest by Merlin who had constructed a small room with magic to house the gathering. In which case, of the dozens of Magi that had shown up before, less than half appeared now. After all, the majority were either killed, or chose not to come after realizing who was now hosting the event.

Forty or so odd people were seated at this gathering, some of which he could recall were there from the previous night. Lord Archibald for example and Lusanna were present. Both of the families they represented after all were of importance in the Mage's Association of the future.

_An association whose sole purpose was to control, conceal, and develop Magecraft after foreseeing the decline of Magecraft. Yet they had went about it in the wrong way._

There were many such practices in the future that he himself could hardly agree with. Of course, one of the biggest being the separation of thaumaturgy from society and its policies to keep the masses ignorant. In some cases, doing so had helped to preserve magic, but even in the future, magic was declining due to old traditions. Even the oldest of Magi didn't understand how to use a telephone.

In which case, he knew how the power of thaumaturgy decreased based on how many people could replicate the art. This was evident in the decrease of power of elemental based thaumaturgy as man learned to harness the power of the elements in the future. Still, that just meant that the magus should focus on a thaumaturgy that has never before been seen instead of clinging to an art already established. That in itself is the continuation of the pursuit of research until a wall is reached, and magic is found. But the thing was, no Magus was ever willing to give up their craft and pursue another. Part of the reason the Mage's Association was created in the first place was to consolidate the existing power of the Magi in the era. A selfish reason, but more than understandable.

He hoped that he could prevent this complete split from society and a few other things.

The meeting began with Merlin giving a small greeting to those that came, pausing slightly as Merlin greeted the Madam from the Vernier family before moving on.

"We'll now begin this meeting," Merlin spoke casually before taking a seat.

It would appear as if Merlin would sit most of this out as this matter _was_ truly for the magi of the era.

Lord Archibald stepped forward to speak, but before he could talk, another woman stepped forward.

"My name Alizine Barthomeloi, of the Barthomeloi family of magi," the woman introduced. She was wearing a backless satin dress that stretched all the way down to her feet, and her hair was tied up into a neat bun. Her expression just screamed imperious, like she looked down upon the others. "I believe we are all here today to speak of an important matter. And that matter is the preservation of the power of our thaumaturgy and the pursuit of research. Agreed?"

A chorus of acknowledgment resounded throughout.

"Then do you have any propositions?" Lord Archibald asked calmly. He had been interrupted from speaking by Alizine, but he didn't appear too troubled by it.

Alizine frowned before gently raising a thumb to her lip. "We can create an association to aid in the sole advancement of research, with several branches, preferably no more than three main ones to help oversee the work. Resources can be pooled, and we as magi can research as we like," she proposed.

This system was exactly as Shirou remembered it. The three branches that made up the Mage's Association, the Clock Tower, Atlas Academy, and the Wandering Sea. Aside from that, the gathering of resources was the same.

Lord Archibald gave a nod of acknowledgment to Alizine Barthomoloi. What she proposed was agreeable to all magi present.

Yet not all. Some fidgeted nervously as a more pressing topic came from those already feeling the effects of their thaumaturgy weakening. Prevalently, those who dealt with fire, an element long since harnessed by man.

"W-What are we to do about the weakening of our thaumaturgy?"

A voice asked.

For the longest time, no one answered. And that was because the most common method of preservation till the present date of the gathering of magi, was silencing through killing. Even still, they couldn't possibly kill everyone who knew of magecraft in the current era. It would be a genocide.

"We simply separate thaumaturgy from society itself," a soft voice proposed. "Thereby limiting the weakening of our craft while increasing our strength through our research."

Shirou's ears perked up. This one sentence had been what he had been waiting for. This method had already tried and failed in the future. In fact, magecraft may very well decline completely if magecraft followed the same timeline as he had seen in the future.

"I object to that," he rebuked under the disapproving glares from the crowd.

Merlin looked up at Shirou, but didn't say anything. It was the Madam out of everyone else who appeared interested in what Shirou was going to say.

"If we do as is proposed and separate ourselves completely from society, then what will we do when society gets so far ahead of us that our magecraft could no longer be considered as extraordinary?" He said. He had used the word 'when' because he had already seen it happen. There weren't many mysteries able to match the shear destruction of a nuclear bomb.

"Preposterous!"

Shirou was immediately reproached, but he already expected that it wouldn't be so easy. It was just that in wake of the previous night, no one dared to actually attack him for his words. Instead, it was just a chorus of criticism.

He put up with it, and waited for it to die down.

"My proposition, is to not entirely separate from society, but to stick close to them while still limiting the number of individuals with knowledge to magecraft," Shirou said.

It was quiet again as the magi contemplated. That was when the madam spoke.

"For the time being, I second such a thing," the Madam said. "Thinking about it clearly, it's impossible for every magus to just disappear away from the common populace. Separating ourselves will take time and a lot of effort whereas not separating with them would allow us to continue what we are doing now and even learn from what is created. I'm sure that everyone can see this?"

A few of the magi in the meeting reluctantly nodded, but the majority kept silent.

The Madam continued.

"Good. What we should discuss on this matter, is just our interference in Society."

Shirou's eyes narrowed as he heard what the Madam just said, a suspicion growing inside him.

The Madam placed her hands on her lap and spoke out clearly. "As Magi, we should not interfere in the business of mortals, but we should be allowed to act in the case of interest."

Shirou's eyes widened. This woman, she really was doing what he thought. In the current era, the only known users of magic were Merlin the Wizard, and the Witch Morgan. If what the Madam had just proposed were to be taken at face value, then she was suggesting that it wouldn't be a problem for other magi to interfere on the world stage.

As was already known, most magi in the era tended to scorn interacting with the common populace and instead devoted most of their time to their craft, but what if there was a gain to interfering? Perhaps a reward to entice them into action?

This was too dubious for him to allow to pass. Immediately he raised an objection, earning a scathing gaze pointed in his direction.

He didn't care, and throughout the entirety of the meeting, he continued to oppose her despite the various topics that passed. Eventually she fell silent, irritation clear in the aura she exuded.

In the end, the Madam didn't get what she wanted when Merlin interfered in Shirou's favour. Of the magi present, most didn't care about what the Madam had proposed and had just nodded their head when Merlin stepped in to quickly end the meeting. This wouldn't have been the case though if this proposition were proposed on the previous day before a majority of the magi present were either killed or fled. Not all magi were traditionalists who preferred a constant life of research. Some may very well have had joined the Madam if given enough of an incentive.

"I will remember this," the Madam transmitted to Shirou through telepathy as she left.

Shirou paid it no mind.

As the gathering ended, another meeting was proposed in the coming years to finalize what had been discussed. Thus, was how the first meeting of the Mage's Association concluded.

* * *

Several days had passed since the gathering of Magi had concluded for the time being, and even the local Harvest Festival had gone by.

The results of gathering of Maig weren't exactly what he had hoped for, but they were at least more beneficial towards the future. The only concern was anything he could have missed from the Madam's propositions, yet he wasn't clear on such obscure matters.

He feared he may only be able to understand by the time it was too late, and that was unacceptable.

Still, he couldn't do anything about it at the moment and instead focused his attention on Arturia and Emily who were currently in front of him. The both of them had insisted he accompany them to run a few errands, and Emily because she seemed to have something she wanted to talk to him about.

Therefore, here he was walking down the town square of Roan.

Merlin had left sometime in the morning to deal with certain matters that he had informed Arturia of, but not him. Yet, from the excited expression on Arturia's face and the glee in her steps, what Merlin had set out to do in the morning probably had something to do with Arturia.

It was only when he asked her did he find out that Merlin was crafting her a set of magic armour after her involvement with magecraft during the Magi's gathering. Thinking about it, he realized that it was probably the armour he had gotten accustomed to seeing on Saber.

A nostalgia soon overtook him and he found himself staring transfixed at Arturia.

"Is it that entertaining to stare at Arthur?" Emily asked perplexed, but nonetheless a tad reserved. She was normally outgoing and had grown confident in her articulation, but whenever she talked to him, she would revert into a demure state.

Having been caught by surprise, Shirou didn't know what to say in response to Emily's question; especially when he realized that Arturia had heard what Emily had asked and had gradually slowed down her pace to be within hearing distance, her ears tinged with a slight red.

"T-That, that is, uhm," he scrambled for the correct words to say, yet instead, he detected something else at that moment, a frown soon forming over his face.

"Something wrong?" Emily asked, noticing his shift in expression.

He didn't answer her right away, but when he did, he spoke curtly. "I'm going to have to apologize in leaving you both here. Something urgent came up," he said.

This response caused both Emily and Arturia to pause in their steps, Arturia even turning around to face him.

"Then we'll just come with you," Arturia spoke, crossing her arms.

Emily nodded her head on the side to show her agreement.

Yet, he didn't budge a single bit on the matter. "Don't worry, I'll be fine. Besides, weren't you excited about Merlin giving you magical armour? You know Merlin's personality better than I; you shouldn't keep a guy like that waiting," he said first to Arturia before turning to Emily and giving her a nod.

Emily had something she wanted to discuss with him today, but this wasn't the time. Emily understood what he was trying to say and respectfully adhered to his wishes.

"Then we'll be going," Emily said softly as she nudged Arturia to urge her onward.

Arturia grimaced, her brows furrowing, but eventually she left with Emily. "You better catch up soon then!" she called from the distance.

"Yeah, definitely…" he trailed off as his head glanced sideward at the approaching woman.

Efret, who was perched on his shoulder was also staring at the woman.

As she walked, it didn't even appear as if anyone else could see nor hear her. She was like a phantom, a ghost.

"And what is it that you want?" He spoke coldly.

"My my, I don't recall making such a bad impression on you," the Madam from the Vernier family spoke slowly. "In fact, this is probably our first time talking outside of matters regarding the Mage's Association."

The madam stopped just in front of him, her arms crossed beneath her chest, and a hand propped up to rest on her chin as she regarded him coolly. "I came to invite you over to the Vernier estate to deal with certain matters."

He raised his brow. This was obviously a trap. Although he could consider himself impulsive, he didn't think that he was stupid. If the Madam was who he thought she was, then she would be dangerous to deal with even for someone like himself.

"I refuse," he immediately answered. Efret on his shoulder began to release a scathing heat in preparation for battle, but was forced to tone it down when it realized that there were villagers nearby.

"As expected," the Madam laughed, sweet and soft; it was the sound of tinkling bells. "Well then, I suppose you leave me no choice." She pointed a hand in the direction where Arturia and Emily had walked off to. From where the madam was standing, she could still discern their positions. "You have two choices: One, come with me, or two, I attack them and take my leave."

His expression sunk hearing the Madam's words.

"As I'm sure you know, that wretched future king would probably survive such an attack due to the blood of dragons, but what about the other girl? But then again, as soon as I attack Merlin will probably arrive immediately as it's impossible for him not have placed a protective magic, yet by then I'll be gone and the damage done," the Madam continued.

He considered what the Madam said, and realized there was a flaw in all this.

"Then what if I stopped you now?" He spoke.

His question actually left the Madam momentarily stunned. Still, the Madam humored him.

"Did you think I'd underestimate someone in possession of a Noble Phantasm? Perhaps you may be able to stop me, and at best I would just retreat, but what about the others staying at that small inn? You don't think I wouldn't monitor the target before contact, would you? Only a fool wouldn't do so, and I have spent plenty of time to get a grasp on someone with your kind of personality. Trust me when I say I know _far_ more than what you can believe."

The madam uncrossed her arms, her expression beneath her hood, gloating. "Now will you follow, or not?" She asked.

Shirou was left at a tough position. He definitely had confidence that he could intercept the Madam from attacking Arturia and Emily, but he couldn't say the same for whatever magic the Madam had aimed at the inn the others were staying at. If Merlin was currently at the inn, then he wouldn't have to worry, but he knew that Merlin had left to create Arturia's armour.

Efret, squawked in warning towards the Madam to not try anything as Shirou reluctantly followed behind.

Eventually, the Madam led him and Efret back towards the Vernier Estate where she escorted them to an inner chamber located beneath the ground of the Madam's lodging.

The room was small, square, and covered in nothing but strange markings that smelled of gooseberries and pine. A magic seal of some sort.

"Now then, I believe introductions are in order," the Madam spoke as she sat at the only table in the room, prompting Shirou to sit across from her. She then raised a hand to her hood and gradually pulled it down, revealing a face that was cold, alluring, and calculative.

"My name is Morgan Le Fay," she introduced. "And I would like to know what it would take to get you to abandon that foolish sister of mine."

* * *

A day passed, a night spent in restlessness that effected some more than others.

_"_ _Don't worry, I'll be fine. Besides, weren't you excited about Merlin giving you magical armour? You know Merlin's personality better than I; you shouldn't keep a guy like that waiting."_

Arturia pursed her lips, feeling regret for the first time in her life. So, what if she obtained magical armour from Merlin? The regality of it, the blues, the yellows, and the polished silver, it all meant nothing to her at the moment.

She had wanted to show it off to _him_ first. In fact, dare she say, she looked 'pretty' in it.

And now, she would like nothing more than to discard the armour in exchange to return to that time before she parted with him.

A hand came to rest on her shoulder. It was Sir Ector.

At times like these, it was always Sir Ector who seemed to come to ease her mind, yet she knew that this time Sir Ector would be doomed to fail.

By the time the evening fell upon the second day, she had returned back to the lodgings, exhausted much like the others who scoured the entirety of Roan. Dirt covered her clothes, but that was because she had taken the extra effort to search the surrounding woodlands and plains around Roan. Emily was the only one similar to her, dirt covered and full of grass stains. Still, he wasn't there.

He just wasn't anywhere to be found.

When the third day came, Merlin had a sour expression on his face, the blaming eyes Arturia had been giving him, piercing in the destitution they contained within. If Merlin had come to them instead with the armour, wouldn't the situation never have had happened in the first place?

By the fourth day, Merlin had joined the rest and was actively searching. Out of everyone, only Merlin appeared to have an inkling of suspicion. And that suspicion led him to stand before the Vernier family's gates, Arturia and everyone else following beside him.

Arturia was feeling a sense of desperation at this point. At the end of the third day, she had even considered that Shirou was taken away by some monster; a goblin sort of thing that had used to haunt her nightmares as a young child, but she quickly dismissed the thought.

Standing in front of the Vernier family's gates, and being denied entry, for once in her life, rage and desperation were beginning to cloud her judgment.

After all,

Shirou had already been missing for four days.

* * *

Short Story

**A Wizard, A King, and a Harvest Festival.**

Ever since seeing the events of that night of the first day of the Magi's gathering, Merlin had been constantly pondering to himself about matters regarding Arturia.

She was to become the saviour of the land; the future King that would lead Britain against the invading forces of the Saxon and the Jutes, and even the other nomadic tribes. Yet, all he had been able to see that night were the actions of an enamored young girl too ignorant to understand what it was she was actually feeling.

Taking a seat on a table provided by the inn, Merlin took a moment to eye the breakfast before him. He had gotten up early today before the others, but it would seem that Shirou had been up even earlier to prepare food. A habit perhaps? But nonetheless, he would partake of it as the teacher in their relationship despite not having taught Shirou anything yet.

While making himself comfortable, he pondered silently to himself about what he should do.

Arturia might have had already unknowingly fallen in love. A concept that she would probably not understand having been sheltered and raised as a Knight in a household of just men. Even then, she would have had minimal contact with anyone as her identity as a child of Uther was undercover.

Sighing, Merlin considered the possibilities from another perspective.

Shirou's to be exact.

Basing on what he had seen of Shirou's actions, the boy might have also developed feeling towards the opposite party. Yet unlike Arturia, Shirou would probably have a grasp on what he was feeling and may act upon it as any hot-blooded youth would. Uncharacteristically though, Shirou displayed a tenderness to Arturia not found in brazen adolescent men.

It would be quite charming and admirable really, if he didn't feel so threatened by it.

In any case, perhaps he would just have to dissuade Shirou from pursuing.

The future would be too cruel on Arturia's heart otherwise. Love, or a life of solitude. Sitting on a throne that oversaw the workings of the entire matter of Britain, she would always have that simple 'what if,' in her heart, piercing it like a thorn. Similarly, he knew that if Shirou acted now before Arturia even drew forth the Sword, _Fate_ itself may change; the persuasive power of love unmatched throughout any era, making empires fall and rise like the fall of Troy.

It wasn't that he was opposed to it, as he would not condemn someone to a life of a lonely Kingship, but he believed that Arturia was still too young to see the bigger picture. Knowing her convictions, and the future he had foreseen, it was still best at least to attempt to dissuade Shirou.

Otherwise, as person like himself, he would just watch how events unfold, witnessing a future and a time that he had never before perceived.

The only question now, was how?

Or perhaps he wouldn't have to dissuade Shirou at all; it takes two to love.

Absently, he picked up a fork and knife, and cut away a small piece of the 'spiced' chicken meat Shirou had prepared for the morning. Shirou had used something called _herbs_ to flavour the meat if he could recall correctly. But, nonetheless, it would be the first time he would have the opportunity to have one of Shirou's cooked meals since he had begun Arturia's training. After all, for some bizarre reason, none would ever be left for him by the moment he sat upon the breakfast table.

As the food entered his mouth, and the expression on his face shifted from a dull pondering to an enamored astonishment, he quickly shoveled the rest down. He didn't care about the devastated expression on Sir Ector, Kay, and everyone else's faces as they quickly walked in late. Instead, he scowled at them.

_By god, those savages._

Still, as his eyes turned to the last piece of food left untouched on the table, 'French Toast' as Shirou called it, an _idea_ soon flickered into his mind even as he released a wave of magic to fend off the competition.

"I-I can't believe I respected you!" Kay stuttered through gnashed teeth. "You monster!"

He shrugged his shoulders, as if he would care about the respect of a man.

Now then.

With class, the French Toast ended up on his plate, and the sound of him chewing echoed across the room along with the cussing of the others.

Music to his ears.

* * *

The Harvest Festival. A celebration held by the Town's people to celebrate and give thanks for the plentiful crops and food yielded.

A similar event was also held in Bristol but celebrated at a different time of the year due to the differences in crops, terrain, and commodities. Yet Bristol was somewhat small when compared to Roan.

He watched as Arturia's eyes brightened looking outside at the festive fervor filling the roads. It would be the first time that he knew that she would partake in a Harvest Festival. In the time he had spent with her in Bristol, she had chosen to remain undercover by obligation, and had not participated in such events aside from watching. Here in Roan though, no one knew her as the son of Sir Ector, and would hardly pay attention to her.

In this case, even Sir Ector gave his consent knowing just how much Arturia had had to put up with in her childhood days. To this regard, Sir Ector had pulled him aside to express thanks long ago.

He had responded back candidly, admitting that he would rather spend his time with a friend than in a town where he barely knew anyone at the time.

Regardless, in the Harvest Festivals in Bristol, it had always been him to come knocking on her door; bringing with him the various items he would need to create their own little Harvest Festival in that modest house of three.

This time, he resolved himself to show her a good time at an actual Harvest Festival.

Getting dressed and then making sure that the lion cub was in still sleeping in the inn, he took Arturia's hand in his and pulled her outside into the bustling streets under the exasperated gazes of Sir Ector and Kay. Oddly, Merlin had the same expression on his face.

Emily was nowhere to be found as of late, as she seemed to have found a relative of sorts that she would visit from time to time to discuss some matters.

Palamid and the Son of Wolfred were also out enjoying the Festival already. How could they not when the Son of Wolfred who had been pampered for most of his childhood got lost in nostalgia, dragging Palamid along.

He was different from the Son of Wolfred though. He did not pull Arturia along to satisfy his own sense of nostalgia, but to allow her to experience what it was like to be normal.

Not a King.

Not a Knight.

But a young adolescent of her age.

Stalls were set up alongside the streets of the town. So, cramped together were they that not even a carriage or a horse could fit their way through.

It was all so new in Arturia's eyes, and for a moment she just stood there, taking it all in as if she couldn't be part of such a thing.

Yet he was the variable who pulled her along; showing her that even though she may become a King in the future, there were some things that must be experienced by oneself. Only then will one understand what it was that they are protecting.

For him, it was just seeing the joy flashing across her eyes, like a child that had just arrived at an amusement park. To her, it was the experience in and out of itself.

The grip he had on her hand felt warm as they moved on from stand to stand. Everything Arturia had seen was new, drawing a light in her eyes he had only ever seen once in Sabers: when he had asked her out for a date.

He hoped to make sure she could experience such feelings time and time again.

An open field had been prepared in preparation for the Harvest Festival. In it, people were dancing, shouting, and laughing as they set ablaze a bonfire under the setting sun.

Arturia was transfixed, her mouth frozen in an o-shape as she stared.

"C'mon," he said, pulling her along to an area just out of sight, but near enough to still hear the sounds of music and chatter.

He smiled at her as she looked at him questioningly.

"Place your hand here," he said, guiding her. "And I'll place mine here."

The expression on Arturia's face soon grew flustered as she realized just how close he was to her.

His hands were placed just atop her waist, and hers were on his shoulders.

"Care for a dance?" He asked. He had noticed the way she had looked enviously at the others enjoying themselves but she had every right to do the same. He was only helping her.

Arturia slowly nodded her head, a dizziness taking over her as a palpable feeling of elation took root from within her. To be honest, she had never participated in such activities common in a festival. Her movements were dull, slow, and unattractive to look at, yet Shirou didn't mind. Always with that reassuring expression on his face.

At this moment, she didn't feel all the responsibilities that weighed down on her shoulders.

Just, just the feeling of the moment.

A youth she didn't think she would ever have.

Nothing seemed to matter.

This was exactly what Merlin had been apprehensive of. She didn't know it at the moment, but if Shirou were to ask her to leave with him, she wouldn't know what she would do. Things had already developed to that point.

The beat of the music traveling from the bonfire echoed out through the air, the clumsy and carefree dancing of two young adolescents undisturbed in the warmth of the moment.

By the time she grew hungry, and the excitement had somewhat worn off, it was then that Shirou found himself staring at a food stand with her.

She looked down at the coins she had on hand, and realized that she had already spent most of what Sir Ector had given her.

Shirou couldn't help her either as he himself had already given his portion of coins to allow her the freedom to do what she wanted during the Harvest Festival.

When her stomach growled again, and she refused to acknowledge it, it was then that Shirou decided to act.

Walking up to the food stand under Arturia's curious gaze, Shirou called out to the vendor. "Would you be interested in a deal?" He asked.

The food vendor was intrigued. Having noticed the clothes Arturia and Shirou wore, the vendor had been quick to assume that they were of Noble Birth.

"Aye?" The food vendor spoke, scratching a spot at the back of his head.

Arturia approached just as Shirou was pointing out at the supplies the food vendor was making bread from.

They were flour, butter, and eggs. Strawberries and blueberries were also out in display in large bowls.

"If you let me use your ingredients, I'll show you how to make something never before seen?" Shirou bartered.

It was just unexpected though that the food vendor would so easily give way. Unbeknownst to Shirou, it was because of the status a Noble represented. The vendor didn't even have the right to say no, yet neither he or Arturia had considered such a thing.

Giving his thanks to the vendor, Shirou took over the simple small fire the vendor was tending to.

The types of ingredients he had to work with were small, but it was expected with how far back in time he was. Therefore, he would just have to make something simple, and quick to avoid troubling the food vendor any further.

He settled on a crepe. It was fairly simple to make, and he had the ingredients necessary.

The flour.

The butter and the eggs.

Some salt he had obtained from Bristol.

And a few other things he had on hand.

First, he crushed the blueberries and strawberries into a jam like consistency that was smooth if a but rough due to the presence of seeds. In any case, he then placed the jam to the side and began work on the actual crepe, a variant of the pancake created as a mistake in the future by a boy named Henri.

Under his experienced hands

The first crepe in history was born and stuffed with blueberry filling. One he gave to the vendor, and the other to Arturia.

She had never seen anything like it before. She had eaten pancakes, but this was different. As she took her first bite, the taste of blueberries and sweetness entering her mouth, she didn't know what to think. Only that one wasn't nearly enough.

The vendor out of everyone present was the most stupefied. Having never before tasted Shirou's cooking, and only then realizing that Shirou had shown him how to make it, he was filled with a sense of gratitude.

As Shirou made a few more crepes and then left the stand, the vendor waved fervently at his exit.

Meanwhile, Arturia was so absorbed in eating that she didn't realize that crepes were far messier to eat than just regular pancakes if one wasn't careful. Soon, blueberry stains were present on her cheeks and her finger tips, and seeing this, Shirou wiped them off.

Arturia's body grew rigid, a red hue forming on her face as she blushed. Such a scene of Shirou cleaning up after her had only ever happened when she was a child as she would often make a mess of herself while eating. Now that she was older, the fact she had done so again in front of Shirou was mortifying.

Yet just like in their childhood, Shirou was always accepting of her. It was to the point where she believed that even if she strayed from the proper path, Shirou would still follow her.

This assurance, this understanding, this ever-present feeling, was it called love?

Arturia suddenly swallowed. She didn't know what love was, so how could it possibly be? It must have been something else. Feeling born from shared memories.

Something she would always hold dear.

Her gaze became tranquil, enjoying the moment.

A Harvest Festival. It was her first, and a memory she would remember for an eternity.

At that moment, a white cloaked man appeared.

Merlin?

"A pleasant surprise to see you two here," Merlin spoke off handedly, casually taking a seat across from them who sat atop the grass.

It was then that Merlin's eyes trailed to the crepes Arturia was still eating from a small plate. Merlin then realized just who had made them.

Shirou stared at Merlin oddly as the man eyed him bringing out the rest of the crepes to eat, yet Merlin composed himself moments later after snatching them. What occurred next was completely unexpected to Merlin as the plate of crepes was then snatched from out of his hands.

Merlin's brow twitched as he realized just _who_ had snatched the food from his hands.

Arturia stared back at Merlin with a calm gaze, a small splotch of blueberry evident on her cheek as she had quickly taken a massive bite out of the fresh crepes.

Merlin cleared his throat irritably before taking out some refreshments and placing a cup down on the table.

Shirou stared at the cup as it just appeared to hold water. He was grateful then when Merlin slide it for him to drink from. Having worked over a fire, he had developed a sheen of sweat and had grown thirsty. Drinking from it, he didn't notice the flash that travelled across Merlin's eyes. What he did notice though was the ghastly expression that soon befell Merlin's face when Arturia took the cup and downed the rest of the contents after finishing the last bite of her crepe.

"Y-You," Merlin didn't even finish speaking before taking Arturia by the hand and leading her away.

Shirou who was left behind stared bewildered, not understanding what exactly had happened to incite Merlin to such action. However, it was only ten minutes later that he began to notice something was off.

Generally, when he was walking down the road, he was used to garnering attention from the townsfolk as the clothes he wore distinguished him as a Noble. Most of these gazes were from women and ambitious individuals however. Yet this time, there was something _wrong_ with all the men.

When before the men had stared at him, it was always in challenge, a way to prove their masculinity through a duel of sorts. Now, now it was beginning to unnerve him.

His long and lush red hair waved in the wind, releasing a fragrance similar to a hearth's fire. His complexion was fair in the glowing dimness of the setting sun, his eyes, like amber jewels, demanding attention.

It was up to this point, that he froze. He didn't remember having long hair, nor did he recall his hands being so soft and small, the calluses gained from continues practice, gone.

A sinking feeling began to take root in his stomach, and immediately he made way towards the nearest source of water to see his reflection. What stared back at him was a beauty straight from a fairy tale.

He was wearing the leathers he had been wearing before, giving him an exotic sort of look. A woman dressed in the hunting garbs of a man.

"My fair lady, it was chance that guided us together at this moment,"

A voice echoed just behind his ears, his back stiffening as he recognized that voice.

Oh god.

He slowly turned around.

The Son of Wolfred was staring at him with widened eyes along with Palamid who was not too far off.

"H-Hello," he spoke with a grimace, immediately turning to move away.

"Wait a moment," the Son of Wolfred called in a heated voice before quieting down as the target of his gaze fell upon Palamid. Realizing that he was being a bit too eager in front of Palamid, the Son of Wolfred composed himself. "At least tell us your name," he asked.

Shirou's mouth twitched, and he immediately began moving away faster.

It was only when he heard a thumping sound that he paused and turned around to stare at Palamid.

Palamid had knocked out the Son of Wolfred, before staring hard at him.

"You're the same, aren't you?" Palamid probed, having an inkling of an idea after staring hard at Shirou's features. The red hair was too much of a reminder for someone as observant as Palamid.

Shirou didn't understand what it was that Palamid meant, but Palamid still seemed to come up to some conclusion.

"It was that deplorable Wizard," Palamid hissed, clenching his fists. "E-Even now I-I, god dammnit! We have to find him! _If he used it on you then he must have the cure on him!_

With that said, Palamid rushed off into the crowded stands of the Harvest Festival, Shirou following not too far behind.

The attention Shirou inadvertently garnered with his tempting appearance nearly made him want to trace out a sword and begin hacking away at all the Noblemen who came to block his path with their continued advances. Eventually, the rumour of the Beautiful 'Lady in Leathers,' would spread throughout Roan. A woman with a fiery temper as red as her hair and a gaze that spoke of violence towards any suitor, yet still pursued nonetheless.

Moving along, Shirou was soon separated from Palamid as the most unexpected of situations occurred. He had stumbled across Kay, drinking a beer along with Gerrard, and Bors while Sir Ector was shaking his head from the side.

His appearance caused Gerrard to drop the beer in his hands.

A lady who didn't appear so sheltered and fragile. It was the first Kay, Gerrard, and Sir Ector had ever seen one. It was only Bor's and too an extent, Kay and Sir Ector that were able to get over it quite quickly. Bors because of Palamid, and Sir Ector and Kay because of Arturia.

Shirou's appearance now, was that of a woman in her twenties due to his height. When he suddenly became a girl, only his physical attributes changed, not his stature. This made him appear quite a lot older for his age.

By this point, Shirou knew the look that flashed across the faces of Gerrard, Kay, and Bors. Gerrard had already somehow made his way to wrap an arm around Shirou's waist.

Gerrard was close enough that even the smell of his breath prickled Shirou's nose.

_Disgusting._

"Fuck off!" He screamed in panic, revulsed. He had faced a number of things in his life, but never something like _this_.

Pushing Gerrard away, the anger in Shirou's face only continued to grow as he sought out that dead beat of a Wizard.

* * *

It wasn't supposed to be this way.

Merlin let out a depressed sigh. He had only planned to show Arturia how feminine Shirou was to dissuade her from pursuing such a man, yet it had all gone wrong in a single moment.

Arturia had taken a drink from the same potion he had gotten Shirou to drink, and now, this was where the problems began. Originally, he had intended to have Arturia turned off from Shirou as he had become a woman, but now, she herself had become a man.

And o boy was it _pissing_ him off.

"Would you care for a drink my lady," Merlin spoke, holding a young woman's hand.

The woman blushed, before slowly nodding her head. It was then that she soon asked the question that nearly caused Merlin to explode in frustration. "W-Will it be with the young Nobleman beside you?"

Merlin's expression froze, as he leveled a glare on 'Arthur.'

This was precisely what had been frustrating him all day. At first he had taken Arturia away for two reasons: To prevent Shirou from seeing would befall him, and to decide what to do with Arturia, and at this point, he knew exactly what he was going to do.

Arturia was acting as if nothing had happened. Then again, she _was_ already raised to act like a boy, so there was basically no difference in behaviour. All that changed with the consumption of the potion was a sharp increase in male features.

Arturia appeared like a young prince charming to any lady who laid eyes on the spectacle.

With a strained smile, Merlin then declined the young lady from a drink, and smoothly pulled Arturia away.

Before, he had deliberated just having Arturia remain as a male, eliminating future problems, but now, now he could hardly care less.

He pulled out a small vile of liquid from his white cloak, presenting it before Arturia.

"Drink this," he said. "It's for your own good."

Arturia looked at the vile Merlin had placed into her hands before taking a small sip under Merlin's insistent prompting. It was only after verifying that Arturia had taken a sip that Merlin gave a sigh of relief.

Suddenly, the vile in Arturia's hands was snatched away by a beauty wearing leathers. For a moment, Merlin had lost himself staring before he swallowed, unable to recognize the woman for who she was.

"My dear, would you care to give that back to me? Afterwards, if you would allow me to treat you to some food or a drink, it would be my _honour_ ," Merlin finished with a huskiness in his voice and a flourish of his hands, a red rose appearing. "A tribute to your vibrant red hair."

"Enough," Arturia glowered, getting an odd protective feeling towards the woman. Something about Merlin flirting with her just ticked Artura off to a whole other level.

Merlin raised a brow, but what would a child know about the art of adults?

Merlin pushed Arturia to the side, drawing an angered grunt from Arturia who immediately began pushing back.

It was only when Merlin used his magic that Arturia had no choice but to watch, restrained by an invisibly force.

Merlin cleared his throat. "Now, where was I?" Merlin muttered, turning around towards the woman in leathers.

The woman in leathers was glaring at him, a bloodlust rising in her eyes, that Merlin had only seen once when he had pushed a woman too far, but her next actions puzzled Merlin. The woman had stomped off with the vile in hand.

Moments later, Shirou appeared in the distance with sword drawn.

It was then that Merlin realized as Shirou approached just who that woman in leathers was.

Awkwardly, he made an excuse to Arturia and quickly left, not caring that Shirou still had possession of the vile. He knew Shirou's capabilities to create a Noble Phantasm, and he didn't want to risk confronting such a thing. Some of the strongest Noble Phantasms could be quite vague until released after all.

Merlin quickly disappeared under Shirou's gaze.

As Shirou vowed vengeance in his heart, he couldn't help but ponder about what had set off Palamid earlier? Well, he didn't really think much about it after Arturia began to pull him along back in the direction of the festivities; she then asking about if he had seen a 'pretty' woman in the direction he had appeared from. Shirou's expression grew somber before be immediately changed the subject.

Elsewhere, the Madam didn't know what to think after what she had just seen today. Initially, it was all part of her plan to monitor the movements of her enemies down to the slightest detail, but little did she expect for Merlin to do such a thing. What a fool, but perhaps she could use this knowledge of events as a means for something? Yet she could already see the futility of it.

Her mouth twitched. Another day wasted.

Not too far from the Madam was Merlin who sighed in the distance as he turned around to observe the scene. It would seem that his interference proved unfruitful. Perhaps only time will tell whether this change in Fate was beneficial or not.

He lost a potion in his righteous endeavor, but he supposed that no one but himself would have a use for that thing anyway, and besides, he had learned a deep lesson today.

Flowers bloom across the land.

And the birds and the bees flock.

Competition is good.

But winning is better.


	26. Chapter 26

The stillness of the room and the relatively dim lighting of candles made for flickering shadows to stretch irregularly in the light.

Aside from the dim lighting and the candles, all that was present in the room was a lone table which had two chairs propped against it. He was in one of those two chairs.

It was the same setting and stillness he'd put up with for the past four days.

His arms were crossed, and his back pressed straight against the chair he was seated on, a calm expression on his face as he stared forth at the woman who sat in front of him once again.

The Witch, Morgan le Fay.

Without the hood, she was admittedly a rare sort of beauty. Her hair was trimmed lightly, cascading down her back as the long strands that made up her bangs were tied in a simple design around her head. She wore the same robe he had seen her wear for the past few days. Dark in colour, it seemed to stretch tight against her rather than the conventional ones of the era which were loose and baggy. Still, her features alone were befitting of a member of royalty from the line of Uther; Arturia was much the same despite hiding under the guise of a man.

She stared at him, and he back before Morgan ended up sighing, a tinge of repressed frustration evident in her eyes.

"I can offer riches, resources, and even the very lands that surround us," Morgan began slowly, her voice gaining heat in their ferocity. "And yet what does _she_ have to offer you? Nothing but her sentiments."

"I still stand by my answer," he replied back evenly. Nothing Morgan could say would ever sway him.

That was what love was. A feeling that regardless of what personal gain or sheer logic could offer, would still become irrelevant. More than altruism, it was something a person could never abandon easily, if at all, once found. More so for him whose sole reason to become a hero was to reunite with her.

It was a tale of a youth who followed his ideals despite numerous setbacks and redundancies, and yet still followed through in the end. For a promise that he made, and a hope he held dear.

Nothing could cause his resolve to falter.

And Morgan must have understood something about him by now, as once again, the woman ended up pursing her lips.

"You are truly too stubborn to know what's good for you," Morgan seethed, straightening her back, but not doing anything else in the meantime.

"Coming from the words of a woman of ill repute and questionable acts," he shrugged his shoulders. "It's only natural."

A tense calm was shared between the two where the sounds of clenching fists could be heard.

Efret who was perched atop his shoulder narrowed its eyes, watching as Morgan unclenched her fists and then took a breath.

"You really are quite infuriating," Morgan said. "Many times, I've contemplated what I should do with you now that you've continuously refused my good will. Perhaps this will be the day?"

It was clearly a threat, yet he wasn't fazed.

"Take down the runes around this room, and we can find out," he replied.

This was primarily the reason he had stayed for the past four days.

The runes spread out across the exterior of the building he resided in prevented the activation of a magi's mysteries as well as prevented hostile action. After all, if he put himself in Morgan's position, it was a safety precaution to avoid drawing Merlin's attention should a battle occur. Of course, this prevented Morgan from taking action with her own mage craft herself. Yet, that was beside the matter. Without his mage craft, it had become difficult to exit the room buried beneath the ground of the building above through physical means. The only way out was through a door that only Morgan could access within the space.

And she was always near it.

In any case, the simple thought of impeding her had once flashed across his mind, but he knew Morgan wasn't one to leave herself disadvantaged. Thus, he didn't follow through with the conjecture.

"I think not," Morgan said simply in reply to his earlier remark. "I do not fear battle, nor do I fear that Wizard, but precautions are something that I believe should be practiced. In your case, I will give you only a single day more before I put an end to this farce."

He knew what Morgan was implying. Even though Morgan could not use her magic, what was to stop her from filling the room with a type of poisonous gas?

Thinking about the past few days, Morgan had actually been quite hospitable despite her cold demeanor and less than stellar intentions. She had provided him food and even sent in a few books on magic he could read in his spare time. Then again, it was probably a show of good will to sway him to her cause. However, based on her words, Morgan's patience was near its end.

He kept a neutral expression as Morgan seemed to search for something on him after she had spoken.

Evidently, she was bound to be disappointed.

At that moment, just as Morgan moved to open her mouth to speak again, she faltered; gem like eyes narrowing into slits. He knew that reaction on her face. After all, he wore a similar one before when something triggered the effect of one of his bounded fields.

Morgan got up from the table across from him and made to exit. Yet just before she left, she paused.

"You really won't leave her for me?" Morgan asked back softly.

"I'm sorry, but no," his answer was the same as it always was.

Morgan's back stiffened, her fingers holding onto the door frame piercing into the wood. Eventually, she let go and disappeared past the heavy door of the room, a hunch in her posture.

Even as Morgan disappeared out of his sight, he could understand what was going through her mind. The envy and indignation as everything was once again taken by a sibling she should have loved, but now hated beyond simple pettiness: The woman of once respectable repute becoming something Uther never would have had perceived.

He moved his thoughts away from the topic. All that mattered was that Morgan would eventually bring harm to Arturia, and it was proven in another time line. That alone was enough to put her and him on opposite sides.

He closed his eyes and continued to concentrate on the project he had been working on for the past few days.

The room around him prevented the activation of a magi's mysteries by disrupting the line of od a magus could utilize in a magic pathway. It was like sending an alternating current through a pathway that required direct flow. It wouldn't work.

Regardless of the disruption in his energy, there was something on his possession that could utilize this by utilizing one of its properties. Storage as a Magic Crest.

The Ashton Magic Crest began to glow as he concentrated on it, storing his four days' worth of magical energy. This was his trump card against Morgan le Fay should she take down the runes surrounding him to utilize her own magic. He would explode forth with the power harnessed from four days in one go. Doing so should allow him enough leeway to trace more than just a few Noble Phantasm to oppose her.

It was just that, he hadn't yet thought about what he would do if Morgan actually did fill the room with poison gas of some sort. If the time came, then he would deal with it then.

Besides, as his eyes landed on a burning Efret, a solution came to mind. The flames around Efret should be able to nullify any effects of a poison.

From the expression that had appeared on Morgan's face, it was clear that something was going on above.

With that thought in mind, he and Efret waited patiently while storing his magical power.

Waiting for the slightest of disruptions before unleashing it all in a single burst.

* * *

Standing in front of the Vernier Estate, she watched as Sir Ector argued with the guards standing with their weapons drawn at the front gate.

"If you won't grant us entry, then first send word to your liege," Sir Ector insisted.

The two guards stared at each other for a moment before turning back to sir Ector and shaking their heads.

"We have orders from the Madam to turn away all guests. Even our liege was in full agreements, so unfortunately, you all can't pass." Saying this, one of the guards put on a troubled expression. "Please don't make this difficult for us," the guard said nervously.

This was natural as the aura exuding from Sir Ector, Kay, and herself was far from calm. In fact, hers was quite agitated, one hand already placed on the hilt of her sword. No pity could be found in her gaze for the guards currently impeding her way. In fact, she had even contemplated attacking them and just knocking them out. This way, Lord Vernier should not find too much trouble with the two for ineptitude.

It was fortunate though that Merlin acted first.

"I am the Wizard Merlin, surely you both have heard of me?" Merlin asked, placing a hand on Sir Ector's shoulder before stepping forward grandiosely.

Hearing Merlin's name seemed to have the right reaction as the two guards immediately became flustered, one of the two finally deciding to bring the matter to Lord Vernier. However, this guard had made quite the commotion while doing so, drawing a large number of knights from the Vernier family's barracks to watch curiously.

Merlin was unperturbed about the situation. It was only Sir Ector, Kay, Bors, and Gerrard who grew serious, staring at the Vernier family's knights and considering threat level.

The Vernier family was after all one of the most influential families of Roan, and the amount of men it recruited as knights was no laughing matter.

It was one of the processes of the Feudal System where each noble serving a King was allotted a piece of land to manage. On this land, the noble could amass a personal army that would move on call from the King which the noble was obligated to follow. Lord Vernier was one such noble, but currently there was no King in power to dictate the man's actions. As such, Lord Vernier had stock piled his amount of loyal personnel instead of sending them to combat the foreign invaders.

As such, it came as no surprise that there were hundreds of them now staring at her and the others, primarily at Melrin though.

It would be five minutes of being under these gazes that the guard that had went to inform Lord Vernier of the situation returned.

"F-Follow me," the guard stuttered, tripping over himself due to not knowing how to act in front of a figure as famous as Merlin.

She didn't care much about that though, and instead urged Merlin to walk faster rather than with the lazy gait Merlin was displaying.

Merlin reluctantly complied with a sigh.

The estate the guard was guiding them through was large. It was mainly open fields of farmland and people that tended to them, but for the most part, it was the large residence quickly approaching that took all attention.

Built from a combination of heavy oak, stone, and lavish decor, the entire building looked like something she could only ever dream of seeing in the central towns of Britain. Painted a dull red with the brown contrast of wood, the place became even more stunning with the collection of trimmed foliage leading up to the main entrance.

Unexpectedly, a familiar face was there to greet them that made the Son of Wolfred's expression to darken, and Palamid to grasp his sword.

It was Petris Vernier, the youngest son of the Lord of the estate.

Clearly Petris had not expected them either as he was far from prepared when he grew flustered from the Son of Wolfred and Palamid's approach. Well, Palamid's approach mostly as the Petris was probably far from forgetting the face beneath.

Then again neither was she and Emily who was sticking close to Bors for protection.

Petris coughed into his hand. "Y-You all, what are you doing here?" Petris asked, feeling self-conscious under Palamid's gaze. Petris cradled the wound that Palamid had inflicted on his arm. Clearly, Petris held a grudge, but was unwilling to do anything.

As the Son of Wolfred, or Palamid in this case could respond with something biting, Sir Ector moved forward to stop them.

"Child," Sir Ector began. "I am wondering if anything unusual has occurred here to your knowledge?"

Taking a quick glance at Sir Ector and verifying his status as a Noble and a Knight, Petris decided to answer to the best of his ability after inflating his chest up in front of Palamid. Petris was probably trying to improve his impression on the silent squire. 'He was not afraid,' was what Petris was going for, but clearly, from Palamid's lack of response, it wasn't working.

Put out by this, Petris answered weakly as the guard whispered into his ear about Merlin. Hearing the name Merlin, Petris's eyes soon brightened. "If you're speaking of unusual, it has to be with father. He, he hasn't been the same ever since that damnable woman showed up," Petris spoke. "Hell, it's gotten even worse lately after she brought along that winner of the Young Blade's competition to her residence in the estate."

" _What?!_ "

She pushed past both Sir Ector and Merlin before pulling Petris in front of her by the scruff of his neck. "What did you just say?"

She realized then that the expression on her face was terrifying; Petris's face rapidly paling as he spluttered out for an explanation. Still, she didn't care. "Hurry up, say that again!"

"T-The Madam brought the winner of the Young Blade's competition to her part of the estate just over there."

Petris pointed weakly at the other building beside the main estate.

Yet before she could charge forward in that direction, the main door of the large residence opened to reveal a gruff looking middle-aged man of tall stature. His hair was cropped neatly to the side, and his face was square with a tanned complexion befitting of a man who'd went hunting game early spring and late summer.

At this moment though, the man did not appear amused.

This was the lord of the estate. Lord Vernier.

"Merlin the Wizard," Lord Vernier spoke stepping forward. The clothes on his body were a combination of loose fitting and baggy; a mantle hung just over the man's right shoulder. "As unwilling as I am to say this, I would have to ask you to leave my home."

"Oh, is that so?" Merlin said. "Quite a welcoming you have for us then."

Quickly she realized that Merlin had ended up beside her, but she was confused as to why.

It only became clear when she noticed the woman walking towards her direction, and the armed knights following closely behind.

It was the Madam of the Vernier Estate. And this time, the Madam wasn't concealing her features.

As she stared at the Madam, shock flashed in her eyes. She knew that woman. There could be no mistake as she looked into a pair of eyes and features somewhat similar to her own.

It was her elder sister, Morgan le Fay.

As Morgan drew close, the group of Knights following behind made a perimeter that encircled the entire party. Moments later, the madam moved to stand by Lord Vernier's side.

"Father, you intend to fight the Wizard?! What has she done to you!?" Petris called in disbelief.

Lord Vernier ignored Petris, giving only a single statement. "All is for the sake of the family."

"Then I'm afraid to say that you've made the wrong choice," Merlin said calmly.

After which a sound was soon heard in her ears.

_"_ _Can you hear me, Arturia?"_

It was Merlin's voice, yet Merlin hadn't moved his lips. Confused, she still nodded anyway to show she had heard Merlin's question.

_"_ _Good, then you don't have to respond back to me. Just listen instead. Do you remember that building that Petris fellow had pointed to? Well, even from here I can detect the presence of mage craft surrounding it. You don't need to concern yourself about which type of mage craft it is, only that it's probably where Shirou is being held. I should be able to deal with your sister, but doing so while protecting everyone else can prove difficult even for the greatest Wizard alive such as myself."_

It was clear about what Merlin was implying. Merlin was hinting for her to save Shirou to help ease the burden in protecting everyone.

Hearing this, she clenched her hands into fists as a goal formed in her mind. Yet, she couldn't take her eyes off of her sister. Why was Morgan doing this? Ever since she was young, she could never recall doing anything to antagonize her elder sister.

Thinking about how Morgan had taken away Shirou from her, for some reason, an unfamiliar emotion of hate began to bubble up from within her. It was so much so that Morgan was taken aback by it. Yet Morgan smiled at her at that moment, cold callous, and knowing.

Fury threatened to overtake her, however, she quickly shook it off. Now wasn't the time.

Looking back at Merlin, and then to the expressions of everyone else beside her, she understood that Merlin was communicating with them in the same way he had with her.

Impatience caused her to fidget. All it would take was one signal from Merlin and she's charge forth towards the direction specified. After all, she knew that right now, she was far from Morgan's match. Not until her training was complete.

_"_ _Once I say the signal Arturia, I want you to charge forward with all the strength that you have. The others should follow swiftly. When you get close enough, I need you to do two things. First, feel out the magical energy and determine an origin for the source; I should have taught you enough about magecraft to understand this point. If you have trouble, just activate your magic core. The second thing can only be dealt with after finding the first. You must disrupt the flow of magic either by breaking the medium, or altering the rune. Remember this well."_

Her magic core. That pulsating heat she could still feel from within her chest. That was her power. Her strength to use.

When Shirou had first asked her to fight together with him, she had been more than just content, yet it wasn't to last. After all, the situations she faced together with him were always out of her control and not restricted to the violence of the battlefield. Instead, there were always elements of magic and supernatural events way out of her hands.

Now, now it was different.

Even as she saw Merlin's mouth begin to move, and the sudden actions of her sister Morgan, she had already taken off. A blur on the open fields that crashed into the enemy lines like a hot bullet.

Mana Burst was the skill she was using. It had been one she had used unknowingly before, but had now mastered to a degree after instruction from Merlin.

Blasts of magic and sounds of rumbling earth echoed behind her ears, but she trusted in Merlin despite the man's womanizing tendencies. Even if she would never admit it, Merlin was like a wayward uncle to her. One she didn't get along with at times, but nonetheless, would never give up on.

"Shit!"

One of the knights of Vernier swore as her sword grazed against the knight's chest plate, producing sparks and causing her brows to furrow. Nonetheless, she quickly followed through by planting her feet into the ground and twisting her body to send her sword swerving up.

A red line formed over the enemy knight's neck before a wet gurgling sound entered her ears, her opponent falling towards the grass.

For an instant, she stared at her sword before staring at the Knight's armour.

This was the sword Shirou had made for her. An Ashton made creation as James Wolfred called it. Able to slice through stone itself like butter. Yet it met resistance on the enemy's armour? It had Morgan's work written all over it.

She was quick to come to a conclusion as she dived away from another opponent's swing, pressing her hands to the ground while an explosion of Mana Burst drove her sword through the knight's stomach.

A sickening squelch resounded as she pulled back her sword, momentarily giving her pause.

It was here that yet another knight in the group she had charged into attempted to take her life.

However, this knight was doomed to fail, an arrow lodged into the openings of the knight's visor.

"Get a move on kid, leave yer back to me," Gerrard called from behind.

Just as Merlin had told her, Gerrard and the rest were quick to follow as soon as the signal was given.

Gerrard as the archer was heavily protected by Sir Ector, Kay, and Bors. The son of Wolfred, Palamid, and Emily were within this protection. This was for the best though as the swords that could cut through stone were no longer as effective against the opponents.

In a fair fight, a knight would normally defeat a squire.

With this reasoning, Bors had adamantly prevented Palamid and the Son of Wolfred from participating. In her case, she was an exception as she had a Magic Core to help make up for the difference in experience.

Emily for her part though didn't seem as nervous, hesitantly cradling some sort of object in her hand.

Seeing that Emily and the others were safe, and knowing that she had Gerrard's support, she continued on her war path towards the building Petris had singled out.

However, as she turned to the knights of Vernier blocking her path, she quickly realized that they had labeled her as a threat. No longer were the knights spread out, they were now compacted together with those possessing shields at the forefront.

"Fall back Arturia," Sir Ector called gravely. "This isn't the time to charge in recklessly."

She nodded her head, and soon had her back facing her friends and family.

Sir Ector took charge immediately. A man who had gone through war and experienced much, his words and instructions were to be followed.

"Gerrard, can you disrupt them?" Sir Ector spoke.

"Aye, that I can," Gerrard spoke.

Gerrard had his bow held in his mouth as he used both hands to pull forth a type of heavy arrow from the quiver he had brought with him. "Only brought one of these with me. One of the ten my old man gave me."

The arrow that came from Gerrard's quiver did not appear heavy, but it became evident from the bulging veins of Gerrard's arms. "G-Give me a second, this is a delicate procedure."

Releasing the bow from his mouth, Gerrard propped it against the ground as he struggled to notch the bow with his lone arm. "Alright, I'm ready," Gerrard spoke. "I just can't aim well with this. Lucky for me, they're directly in front of us."

With that said, she watched as Gerrard let the arrow fly with a murmur. An incantation she could only recognize now that she had learned from Merlin.

A rune shimmered to life from the shaft, twisting grey winds enveloping the arrow from the tip and working its way down towards the base.

She almost couldn't help but gawk at the sight. It was like seeing a miniature tornado, the outline reminiscent of the conical shape of a pin pushing again stretched leather.

If she nearly gawked, then the enemy side faired far worse.

Panic had been the initial reaction, their formation breaking like water to sand. As swiftly as the arrow was launched, it had disappeared along with a clear path left in its wake. Black dots could be seen scattered throughout the horizon, bodies falling down and splattering like water balloons in the distance.

Following this, the clatter of steel falling against the ground echoed out in the silence of the estate.

Many of the Vernier families Knights had heard stories from the townsfolk about what had happened in the battle of the river Glein. It was just, none had believed any of the rumours that had proliferated. Yet now…

A knight trembled before falling to the ground on wobbly knees. No longer were there any looks of confidence on the knight's faces. Now they were just terrified and unable to move.

"Another one, you had _another_ one with you?"

The voice came too suddenly, chilling to her ears.

Quickly she turned around towards the source, but by then it was just to see Morgan standing in front of Gerrard within the circle of protection Kay and the others had set up.

Morgan appeared fatigued, her complexion flushed with a shade of red that wasn't just from exertion. The clothes Morgan wore were ruffled, some garments out of place and somewhat stained from the sheen of sweat Morgan had worked up.

Regardless, though, what caused her blood to freeze was the way Gerrard lay sprawled against the ground, unmoving.

She could recall the times she had spent with the man, and although she didn't really have a good impression of him, Gerrard was still someone she could call friend. Gerrard had been there to help deal with the monster in her youth. He had been there to help Shirou in the war with the Saxons, and now here he was helping her.

Once again, her eyes trailed down to Gerrard's form.

He still wasn't moving.

"MORGAN!" A roar burst out from within her, but just as she was about to charge forward in her rage, another beat her too it.

It was Charles of Deadsacs. Having been forced to come by Gerrard, Chalres had been meek and quite throughout the entire ordeal to avoid drawing harm to himself; he was after all, just a regular man. Yet now, here he was attacking Morgan the Witch in a rage.

"Y-You, you, how _dare_ you!" Charles swung in a frenzy, uncaring that a field of sorts was diverting all of his blows. "He, he was-!"

Something seemed to snap in Charles and somehow his hands had made their way to Gerrard's quiver of bows. Unconsciously pulling out an arrow, he stabbed forward with a shaking grip.

The arrow glowed with a dull light, piercing through the filed surrounding Morgan to Morgan's surprise. Yet in the end, Charles and his efforts were futile as she simply dismissed the man with a flick of her wrist, crumpling Charles to the ground.

It was then that Merlin arrived, taking the opportunity granted by Charles's distraction to kick Morgan away.

Spittle flew, and Morgan glared back in contempt.

Merlin stood, a rare expression of frustration on his face and a few tears in his clothes. Moments later, he ignored Morgan in favour of glancing at Gerrard and Charles's condition.

Yet, before Merlin could do anything further, Morgan was already taking action, catching Merlin in a ball of magic and sending him back sever hundred meters. Morgan then pursued.

Left to themselves, Sir Ector was the first to walk up to their fallen comrades, a grim expression on his face. "Kay, Bors," Sir Ector called. "We must defend them here. I don't want to risk moving them, and even then, there's nowhere safe here to move them to."

Kay and Bors nodded in understanding. She nodded soon after.

It was at this moment though that Lord Vernier appeared with of group of his men.

"You fools. What are you doing? Can't you see that the Madam interfered for your benefit?" Lord Vernier sneered. "Without that magic archer, what are they too an army of you?"

Hearing what their leader said, the knights of Vernier once again took up arms.

Her brows furrowed. The situation wasn't good.

_"_ _Can you hear me, Arturia?"_

Merlin's vice once again sounded in her ears.

_"_ _Do you see the path Gerrard has made for you? The opening leading to your destination?"_

Indeed, she could. Even as the Knights of Vernier regained their vigor, a substantial hole had been made in their encirclement.

_"_ _You must not waste the opportunity granted to you. With your Magic Core, it wouldn't be unexpected for you to make use of it."_

She would have agreed with that sentiment, but how could she just leave her family and friends to fend for themselves against all these enemies? She couldn't.

"Go," Sir Ectors voice urged her on. "We'll stand a better chance with Shirou's help. Isn't that what Merlin was too lazy to tell you? I can tell he was talking to you. Don't underestimate the man who raised you. Besides, I've still got some strength in these old bones, and Kay and Bors are not lacking in any way."

"Arthur," Emily called stepping forward. "Bring him back to us. We'll handle it here," saying that, Emily crushed the object that was cradled in her hands without any more hesitation, a brief swish of wind uplifting her hair. "We'll just have to hold on for a while."

Finally, after Emily's persuasion, and after staring at the looks in her friends and family's eyes, she made her resolve.

_Mana Burst._

She was like light itself, moving so fast that not even the knights that attempted to stop her could block her.

At that instant as she exited the knight's encirclement, her gaze shifted backwards. The Knights of Vernier had completely collapsed on her friends and family, Sir Ector, Kay, and Bors beating back wave after wave of enemies despite their numbers alone. Even Palamid and the Son of Wolfred were no exception to the fighting, their swords valiantly hammering against the enemies.

For those fighting behind her, and for him who was held trapped in the building before her, she could not allow herself to fail.

A large group of the Knights of Vernier were pursuing her, yet she was too fast for any of them to catch up.

It didn't take long to reach the building Petris had said Shirou was at.

The objectives Merlin had told her filtered into her mind. She had to find the source of magic power.

Closing her eyes, she once again activated her magic core. With a thrum she felt out at her surroundings.

At first, she couldn't feel anything, but then, almost like the feeling of touch on her skin, she detected it. The presence of a field. A dome of sorts being supplied by a single point of origin.

She opened her eyes, and there before her was a marking made of dried ink hidden by the foliage of a bush.

Her second objective from Merlin was to disrupt it.

And thus, she made her way forward only to pause abruptly as a dagger planted itself at her feet.

A black-armored youth similar to her age, based on his stature alone, walked out to stand in front of the marking.

"Move," she spoke. It was her only warning.

She didn't have much time, and the group of knights pursuing her was drawing near.

"I have my orders," the youth spoke. "I am not to move from here."

Left with no choice, she brandished her sword and charged forward. She had already faced knights and defeated many. What was just a mere squire compared to that? And yet, the lesson Shirou had once taught her as a child surfaced to her mind. The one where Shirou had defeated her with a tree branch, a twig no less.

_Do not underestimate the opponent._

_Observe quietly, and then make judgements._

This youth knew to stand protectively in front of the origin point of the magic surrounding the building. It was too much of a coincidence.

She halted her charge, and fell into a closed stance, her sword held horizontally in front of her.

The youth made no motion to attack, leaving the two in a tense silence. However, different from the youth, she needed to make as much haste as possibly.

She initiated with a probing strike, shocked when her blade was deflected so easily. Even then, a line of blood trailed down her arm from the exchange.

Unperturbed, she stepped forward, putting strength into her thighs while executing a horizontal slash.

It was promptly parried, her blade striking against the youth's and locking.

She activated Mana Burst, and the increase in power drew a strained grunt from the youth before her. However, to her shock, the youth withstood the power of her Mana Burst, not budging an inch.

"Magic," the youth clicked his tongue before disengaging and drawing back to make distance. From there, the youth now began to initiate attacks.

The clang of steel resonated in the air.

Sweat trailed down her face to drip down from her chin.

The armored youth before her was good. Better than any she had faced aside from her friends and family.

She pulled her head backwards, dodging a quick swipe of the youth's sword. At least, she thought she did. Strands of her hair fell upon the earth, a portion of her bangs missing.

Anger filled her eyes, but she kept calm and didn't act rashly.

Moving past the youth's swing, she parried with her sword and then shoved forward with her shoulder, sending them both tumbling against the ground. In the process, she had effectively disarmed the youth.

Still on the ground, she quickly straddled him, bringing up her sword to stab down.

"Futile."

The youth twisted his body, angling his leg up to suddenly kick her away.

Winded from the strike, she breathed deeply as the youth once again picked up the sword he had dropped. Cuts and bruises were evident on the youth, and it was clear that he had taken some damage. Yet the same could be said to her.

Placing strength into her arms, she got ready to resume. To defeat the youth in front of her, and then disrupt the magical formation behind him. However, contrary to expectations, the youth sheathed his sword.

"A shame," the youth said monotonously.

She couldn't understand at first about what the youth meant before a sword slashed her in the back, making her stumble.

The Knights of Vernier that were pursing her had arrived. And one of them had attacked, ignoring the code of honour of knights dueling.

She gritted her teeth from the pain, her legs wobbling, yet she remained standing, staggering forward with the momentum of the enemy's swing.

Oddly, the youth did not impede her as she stepped onward; turning his body to the side as she finally fell flat on the ground because of the injury and the exhaustion that had taken over her. It was only to be expected though after her continued use of Mana Burst. The injury only sped up the process. At this time, the ink marking was in sight.

It was right in front of her. So much so that all she would have to do was reach out to touch it.

She did so with much effort.

A desperate slip of a finger, and the tiniest of disruptions.

Then the world shook, tremors running through the ground and causing everyone present pause. Knees buckling, and bodies swaying, the building before her all but exploded, ejecting blocks of stone and wood to fall against the grown like rain.

Pot holes were formed, some bloodied by the unfortunate souls of those unable to react in time, their bodies crushed beyond recognition. The screams of those injured numbered in the dozens, the sound, chilling to the bone.

Yet even then, it was not the end.

Flames erupted in spiraled torrents only fueled further by the zephyrs that blew in. Embers drifted towards the earth, ephemeral and quickly fading; the heat setting a flame to the land and making it thick with ash and smoke. The air suddenly became stifled and suffocating, a narrowed pair of emerald eyes peering forth from within the towering blaze.

And in that chaos,

" **I am, the Bone of my Sword.** "

A voice spoke from the rising dust of the debris. Deep, resonating, and filled with a power that took root within one's very being.

And in its wake, was a sky of bronze, heat, and steel gleaming with the prestige of years of use and bloodshed.

A Horizon of limitless Swords.


	27. Chapter 27

If one knew what it was like to stare upon a specter of death, then surely it would be similar to the expressions reflected upon the steel of the swords looming above. Some were jagged, others pristine and smooth, their edges coated with a thin tint of red from the heat surrounding them.

The danger of them was evident; the tension alone that had suddenly manifested serving as a deterrence that caused one's strength to gradually be sapped away.

After all, if the fires that raged and writhed weren't enough of a warning, then those swords themselves hanging from above without physical means surely would be.

Humans were fickle things. If they couldn't understand something, then it was the work of a higher power, good or evil. In which case, something else must be taken into consideration.

And that is the prospect of perspective.

The undisputed weapons of offence in the entire era was the Sword. They were the work of legends and the vessels able to contain that which could not be understood by normal means. Swords able to pierce the hides of dragons and bath in their blood, and swords that could split the mountains with a single swing, such legends were not rare. Often, they were told to younglings commonly of Noble Birth, and in some cases even to the masses.

Such weapons told of in the folktales spread throughout the continent resounded within the minds of many.

_Siegfried, the bather of Dragon's Blood._

_Beowolf, the Beast Killer._

Both were known for their bravery and power, yet it was indisputable to many Knights that without their swords and weapons figures like Beowulf and Siegfried would never have had triumphed. Magic Swords they were. They had to be, to be able to accomplish the feats described of in legend.

Therefore, there was a certain terror that took root within the hearts of the Vernier family Knights who stared up at the floating swords.

Magic Swords; there was no doubt to what those Knights and people present were thinking. And if such a thing were true, did that not mean that they were facing a figure comparable to those spoken of in legend? The one's regaled to them by their fathers as people to strive forward to become?

As the sound of his steps began to echo from within the dust created from the impact of the rubble, this was the sight he witnessed: Grown men frozen stiff from the fear in their eyes, their legs trembling as some had even fallen to the ground on their knees.

He disregarded them soon after, turning his attention to the one bleeding on the ground, a wound cut across her back. For a moment, his breath hitched recognizing that blond hair and small back attempting to shoulder more than one could ever carry. From there, his eyes quickly shifted to the armoured youth standing next to her looking for answers, and even then, that only lasted for a moment before he ran to her side.

Arturia.

She had been lying face-down on her stomach, her arm still outstretched towards a smudged marking on the wall of the building that had exploded as a result of his and Efret's release of magical power. Though, more on Efret's case as the rapid expansion and flowing flames from its body increased the pressure exponentially within that underground room.

Carefully, he propped her up against him. Her eyes were half-lidded, and it appeared as if she would lose consciousness at any moment. He held her close, urging Efret up above to protect them for a moment.

Immediately, a caw came from the sky before a dome of fire descended down around him and Arturia. Unfortunately for the armoured youth, this dome encompassed the youth within as well.

As he had run forward, the armoured youth had taken several steps back and made some distance, but that distance clearly wasn't enough. Feeling stifled, the youth quietly placed a hand on the hilt of his sword.

He didn't notice this action and instead was focusing on calling out to Avalon, the sheath whose true owner was right before it. He could almost feel the excitement in the sheath crafted by the Fey to hold within the Holy Sword unsurpassed throughout time.

Avalon didn't require much prompting to come into existence. Instead, it appeared in tiny mots of glowing yellow lights, like fireflies in the night that slowly converged and entered Arturia's body.

Her wounds completely healed, dried blood caking off and pinkish skin forming visibly on the damaged areas. Next, the complexion on her face near instantly grew better, the paleness replaced by a healthy vibrance that caused her eyes to flutter open in confusion.

She appeared as if she was staring at an illusion, and this was verified when she slowly brought a hand up to pinch his face and then her own. The sheer surprise and mortification that flashed across her expression when she realized that it wasn't an illusion was endearing despite the current situation.

Evidently, she was also not expecting him to be so close to her, his face close enough that she could feel his breath. She couldn't utter a word in this situation and swiftly pushed him away, forgetting that he was the one supporting her in the first place. Without his support that she had been leaning on, she fell back on the ground, spluttering and trying to make sense of the situation.

Moments later though, she shook her head, a frantic expression coming to her face.

"We have to help them!" She spoke desperately while searching out for her sword. She had apparently dropped in when she had gotten injured moments before.

When she had spoken of injuries, his eyes immediately returned to the armoured youth a distance away from him that he had neglected till now. A sword manifested in his hands, and he stood up to his full height, near half-a-head taller than the youth.

Perhaps Arturia had noticed this behaviour or had just seen through his actions, but she moved to defend the armoured youth.

"He helped me," she said anxiously.

After words, she then explained what had happened as quickly as she could. When she told him about the situation Sir Ector and the others were in, he couldn't help but clench his hands into fists. By the time Arturia finished explaining everything, his eyes had already grown to show a cold resolve.

"Thank you," he said, bowing his head to the armoured youth.

If the armoured youth had not allowed Arturia to stagger forward and disrupt the magic sigil, then he would never have had even known what was going on above.

The black armoured youth didn't reply.

However, he wasn't put out by this. Instead, he had other more pressing things to accomplish.

He closed his eyes.

_Efret._

That link that connected the two allowed Efret to understand what he wanted even without explanation. In this case, the wall of flame surrounding them in a protective dome vanished. What appeared was himself, a healed Arturia, and the armoured youth who had taken the time to retreat.

There was a sudden pause at his re-emergence, a lull that was quick to die out as Efret spat out a ball of flame that ignited a man upon contact. Said man began flailing, screaming and rolling against the ground to put out the flame, yet nothing worked and the screams soon faded into a heavy silence.

One of the Vernier family's Knights gulped audibly.

"W-What are you all doing!" A Knight captain stuttered to his men. "E-Even if we're facing a Wizard, they're not known for their skill in close combat so don't even think about running. The farther away you run, the greater the odds of death are."

Hearing what the Knight Captain said, he realized that there was actually a hint of truth in it. Of the two known magic users of the era between Merlin and Morgan, these Knights have clearly witnessed a form of Morgan's magecraft. However, what they didn't know between magi, was that all magi were different, researching and specializing in numerous fields. He was no different, just that his magecraft leaned more towards battle.

"Stand firm, if we all converge on him together, then the fire bird will have no one to control it!" The Knight captain continued speaking.

"S-Sir, what about those swords?" Another Knight spoke apprehensively.

"Are shields and armours are blessed by the Madam," the Knight captain spoke. "We shall not fear."

Meanwhile as the Knights of Verneir discussed amongst themselves, he did not remain idle.

Already, enough time had passed that danger may have had already befallen Sir Ector and the others.

He had no more time to stand around and do nothing. From what the Knight Captain spoke of, the Knights of Vernier all had the same thought that if he was defeated than Efret would no longer do battle. However, weren't they getting a little too ahead of themselves with just armour shields alone?

Efret was not the only thing they had to worry about.

"Trace, on: Continuous Fire!"

The swords hanging above him began to whine, vibrating with bluish light that left streaks in the air as they propelled forward.

They were as numerous as rain. Reinforced shields and armour may save them from one or two blows, but what about ten, or even a hundred? Furthermore, the sheer impact alone was enough to cause death by concussion and battered bones, and even then, the heated edges left uncomfortable black scorch marks over the armour.

Gauges filled the earth, swords burrowing into the dirt like shrapnel. Blood splattered outwards from the impact, forming large areas of red on the long grass.

"C-Charge!" The Knight leader pushed forward.

Behind the leader were many others who loyally followed.

Their only hope lied in taking him down. Unfortunately, such a thing would not be happening.

_Zzztt._

It was a buzzing like sound that sent shivers down the Knight's spines.

_ZZZZTTTT!_

Swords numbering in the hundreds swung down from the sky, twisting and turning, and clattering against each other. It was reminiscent of thousands of needles bunched together and pointed forwards.

One Knight faltered, and then another until only the Knight captain himself was the only one moving forward remaining. Ahead, a wall of swords was the only sight that entered the Knight Captain's eyes, impossible to bypass.

Finally, the last hopes seemed to have died from the Knight Captain's eye as the man fell forward on his knees, staring up at the sky as if God had forsaken him.

"Is this the price to pay?" The Knight Captain mumbled. "Lord Vernier, this Knight of yours expresses his regret in following the instructions of a Witch. But now it's too late."

As the swords began to shoot forward at unimaginable speeds, a flash of unbreakable will appeared reflected within wizened eyes. At that moment, a single order was given by the Knight Captain.

"Retreat."

The voice resounded for but a moment, but it was enough to get all the Knights of Vernier to beat a hasty withdrawal. However, a few still remained.

Noticing this, the Knight Captain gave a low grunt of acknowledgment.

 _My brothers in arms_ , the Knight Captain thought before forsaking everything else.

"OOAAHHH!" The Knight Captain screamed with a battle cry, charging forward.

Shields were broken, armour sets pierced and singed, and yet it did not matter in the face of the storm of swords. It didn't even take more than a few seconds to completely wipe out the group, and furthermore, the swords still struck out at those retreating without hesitation.

Arturia swallowed, looking up in apprehension at the steadily wilting numbers of the Vernier Family's Knights. Admittedly, it was the first she had ever seen anything like it. In the battle of the River Glein, it had always been Efret and Gerrard who had left the largest impact. For one, because of Efret's size and power, and the fear associated with monsters. As for Gerrard, no words were needed after a single arrow had devastated the enemy's lines. Yet what she was seeing now was completely different. It wasn't Gerrard or Efret who were the true monsters of the battlefield, it was the friend who had remained with her throughout her childhood years and till present. The one who smiled at her while she ate, and the one who wilted under her demands.

Her Knight.

Her gaze had changed as she stared at him, unknowingly flushing red with heated emotions.

He didn't take notice of this though, instead, he held Arturia close as he leapt into the air.

"Efret!" He called out.

The great fire bird above swooped down, catching himself and Arturia on its back.

This was the first time he had ever rode on Efret's back, but based on the calm of Arturia's expression, the same could not be said for her. In any case, his eyes surveyed the land beneath them.

"Sir Ector and everyone else are over there!" Arturia pointed impatiently.

From their position up above, they could see the encirclement the Knights of Vernier had made around Sir Ector and the rest. They were being besieged from all sides, but Kay, Sir Ector, and Bors were managing to keep the majority of the Knights at bay. Palamid and the Son of Wolfred were striking out in the small gaps left behind by the older men.

Seeing the situation, he immediately maneuvered with Efret to intervene. Wind whipped across his face, the sound produced from their decent numbing his ears. Just as they were about to land though, a voice echoed in his mind.

_"_ _You've made the wrong choice."_

Suddenly, a power pressed itself against his face and blasted him off of Efret's back, pulling him towards a source further away.

Efrat cawed in indignation, circling around towards him, but was quickly retrained by the emergence of a magic circle preventing Efret from moving forward.

_"_ _I coming master,"_

Efret's thoughts were conveyed to him, yet he shook his head as he then motioned towards Sir Ector and the rest. Reluctantly, Efret complied, moving towards the area with Arturia still on its back.

As for himself, the pulling force on him only tightened until he was dragged to stand within a dark forest, the Witch Morgan in front of him, and Merlin near his right. The both of them appeared winded, but Merlin still took the time to smile in his direction.

"Isn't it about time to end things here, Morgan?" Merlin asked. "The situation is far from favorable for you."

The Morgan sneered, her face creasing together in her anger.

"Far from favourable, yes," Morgan spoke, idly taking a few steps to the left before she paused and stared at him, hard. "But, it'll be even more unfavorable in the future."

It was clear about what Morgan was hinting at. It was because of him. What he had done with his magecraft earlier should not have had escaped her notice. The swords he had traced weren't Noble Phantasm, but the power they exuded as mystic codes should have been more than enough for any magus to feel a sense of dread. In fact, those swords he had created were still floating around him, having followed him as Morgan dragged him towards the location. Clearly though, what Morgan was currently feeling was a budding pressure that would be better to be dealt with before it became too severe.

"Mystic codes," Morgan spoke slowly, her eyes discerning each sword above. "In the end, what family do you come from?"

He didn't answer. After all, it was beneficial if Morgan or any other magus assumed he was related to an even bigger line of prominent magi. It could prevent trouble from coming to Arturia by acting as a deterrence for any magus wishing to approach.

Seeing that he wouldn't answer, Morgan pursed her lips, her attempts failed.

"Will you give it up here then, Morgan?" Merlin asked again.

Morgan's shoulders trembled, her expression shifting into contempt before she burst out into laughter that rocked across her body before she eventually stopped.

"You fools, the both of you," Morgan said. "Do you really think that you could gain the advantage while in the territory of another magus? Naïve!"

Morgan stepped forward, and then pointed out towards the distance. "You both are in my realm, and even though you both together may have pressured me into a tactical retreat today after careful consideration, but I have more than a single way to resolve this matter."

He immediately felt apprehensive as Morgan's body began to shimmer away from existence.

"I hope you enjoy it, and _you_ ," Morgan's eyes narrowed on him. "If you are lucky enough to survive this, I will remember you and your choice on this day."

As Morgan's voice faded away, the ground began to rumble beneath his feet and he could feel the sudden emergence of magical power converging on a central point in the Verneir estate.

"Hmmm, not good," Merlin said, eyes widened. "That Morgan, she set up a bounded field of extraction."

Merlin then explained to him of the bounded field's purpose, and hearing the explanation, he immediately wanted to move into action. Because in the end, what he had derived from Merlin's explanation was that the bounded field was similar in effect to the magic circles he had found scattered across his previous school of Homurahara Academy. It was during the Holy Grail war, and those magic circles were designed for the express purpose of extracting the magical power of everything within. And for regular humans, and even magi, they would die after having their vitality sucked out of them. The power gathered would then be used as a source for other magecraft, or assimilated to be used as the caster's own strength.

As such, he couldn't let that happen.

"We have to move fast," he spoke.

Merlin nodded before bringing up a problem. "We may not have enough time to deactivate all the magical circles supplying the power to the bounded field. Even for me, it would take a couple minutes just to deactivate one, and knowing how devious Morgan is, there's bound to be several dozens of these magic circles. With my speed, and just the two of us alone, assuming that you can deactivate those seals yourself, we still may not make it in time," Merlin concluded.

He understood what Merlin was implying.

"Therefore, it's better to just take Arturia and everyone else out of here before the bounded field activates?" He questioned.

"Precisely," Merlin acknowledged.

However, he could not acknowledge such an answer.

"When something terrible happens, it's true that you can only save a handful of people, no matter how hard you try." A fierce light appeared in his eyes as he spoke, a decision having been made. "But that doesn't mean it's okay!"

He dismissed the swords still floating above the air and made sure he had Merlin's attention.

"Would it make a difference if you can immediately deactivate a magic circle?" He asked.

The question caught Merlin by surprise, but he quickly composed himself.

"I am the greatest Wizard of the Land. Such a thing would be trivial in such a case," Merlin scoffed. "Yet how would you plan to allow me to do that?"

No words were needed for his next actions. Instead he merely took a breath before extending a hand out.

_Judging the concept of creation._

The possession of a woman who was betrayed flashed across his mind. A simple woman, and one that was common throughout the various stories across the land. A maiden in love.

_Hypothesizing the basic structure_

It was an item of Greek origin, dating from before one of the world's earliest empire's fell.

In which case, it harbored within it the hopes of a woman waiting for the return of her loved one. Made of common metals of man, and forged through the efforts of the olden blacksmiths of Colchis, it became something much more sinister.

A dagger of betrayal.

_Duplicating the composition material._

_Imitating the skill of its making._

_Sympathizing with the experience of its growth._

_Reproducing the accumulated years._

_Excelling every manufacturing process._

The seven steps of tracing flashed across his mind, and in that moment, his eyes opened to stare at the jagged dagger before them.

Rule Breaker, the dagger of the Witch of Colchis.

The power coming off from it was unmistakable in Merlin's eyes. And that was what caused the man to be so stunned. It was another Noble Phantasm!

Already he had seen the disbelief the first time Merlin laid eyes on his tracing, but now he knew that Merlin had thought that to be the limit of his capabilities regarding them. Merlin was wrong. And if Merlin ever found out that he could trace an untold number of them, he was afraid of what Merlin would do to him at that point.

"T-This, what does it do?" Merlin inquired.

Instead of explaining, it was easier to show its abilities.

At the spot Morgan had vanished from, a glowing magic circle was in its place. Swiftly, he stabbed down with Rule Breaker, watching wordlessly as the magical power in the circle dissipated with its destruction. This was the power of Rule Breaker, the power of Medea of Colchis, the Witch of Betrayal.

Seeing the magical circle dissipate, Merlin was at a loss for words.

He took the opportunity of Merlin's inattentiveness to slip the dagger into the man's hands.

"This is a sword of negation and betrayal that nullifies every kind of magecraft in the world," he spoke the words Caster had once spoken of from within the dagger's history. "With this, you shouldn't have a problem getting rid of those magic circles supplying power to the bounded field. While you do your part, I'll do mine."

He left before Merlin could stop staring dumbly at Rule Breaker, heading back in the direction of where Arturia and the others were. At the same time, he located and nullified any magic circle he discovered on his way.

* * *

Balls of flames fell down from the sky, scorching the earth beneath and killing the armoured Knights unlucky enough to be caught under the explosion.

This was all because of Efret.

After Shirou had instructed it to help Sir Ector and the others, Efret had first deposited Arturia on the ground before then taking to the skies where it pelted the Knights of Verneir with an unrelenting storm of attacks. Even worse, the Knights of Vernier couldn't even do anything back because of Efret's altitude.

Moral was considerably low as a result, but the loyalty the Knights of Vernier displayed by not immediately fleeing was admirable.

The tide of victory was completely one-sided.

As such, it was completely unexpected then when Efret suddenly plummeted from the sky, crashing into the ground near Arturia and the others, and beginning to shrink until it was its regular size of half-a-man's leg.

Efret groaned feebly, its eyes narrowing as they stared resentfully at the sudden emergence of a magic circle nearby. This magic circle had seemed to focus on it first and drained its power completely dry.

 _"_ _Circle, bad. Get away,"_ Efret warned Arturia as she and the rest questioned Efret about what was wrong.

"Not good," Sir Ector immediately said staring off at Lord Vernier's Knights.

After seeing Efret suddenly plummet to the ground, they had regained some confidence in winning and were once again charging forward. The sound of their clinking steps resounded through the field, none of them knowing that the Madam had tossed them aside like fodder; not even Lord Vernier knew this.

Some of the Knights of Vernier included those that had run away from when Shirou was let loose. Those Knights had expressed their desire to retreat and continued to insist on it to Lord Vernier. However, Lord Vernier just scoffed and placated them by reminding them of the Madam. 'She would return and deal with everything,' was the general gist of it.

With that said, no more protest emerged from those particular Knights.

"They're coming," Sir Ector spoke grimly. "Kay, you and Bors take the vanguard and defend our retreat. I don't know what that magic circle there is, but if it's enough to put down Efret, then it's far more dangerous to us. We have to move."

Everyone listened to Sir Ector's instruction as the man had years of experience in his life.

As Kay and Bors stepped forward to intercept the oncoming Knights, Arturia, Emily, Palamid, and the Son of Wolfred helped support the lightly breathing Gerrard and a winded Charles.

Sir Ector took the lead in the retreat, beating back the Knights of Vernier near the back of the encirclement. However, it was doomed to be futile. More and more of them just kept appearing like ants.

"These bastards," Sir Ector swore through gritted teeth. Weariness was clear on his face, and even the grip he had on his sword was beginning to slacken from over exertion.

"Let me," Arturia spoke, moving away from Gerrard and letting Palamid shoulder more of the burden. "I can go out and try to break a hole for you to follow."

Sir Ector didn't approve of Arturia's suggestion. After all, something was beginning to happen to the enemy's line, and Sir Ector didn't want Arturia to get close.

One by one, the speed of the Knights of Vernier seemed to be stumbling into a crawl, their faces growing pale, and their breaths erratic. Soon, one of them collapsed on the ground, unmoving, then another quickly followed. Lord Vernier himself was not exempt from this, his expression growing bitter as he realized better than anyone else that he had been betrayed.

"What's going on?" The Son of Wolfred asked.

"Hmph," a shrug of disdain sounded out from a short way behind the Son of Wolfred. "Someone has set up a Bounded Field of Extraction. If you all don't get out soon, you will be effected by it just the same as those men before you."

While the voice was speaking, everyone turned in its direction. Out of everyone though, only Emily was the one unsurprised with the person's arrival.

It was a woman Shirou and Merlin would recognize as Alizine of the Barthomeloi family of magi, and behind her was a trail of broken bodies leading all the way from the entrance of the Vernier estate. It was obvious that she had been barred entry, but had forced her way in anyway.

She had been someone who participated in the magi's gathering hosted in Roan. She was in no way weak.

Currently, a frown worked its way onto Alizine's face upon noticing the paleness of Emily's. It was clear that the effect of the bounded field was already beginning to occur.

"We're getting out of here," Alizine spoke, walking in Emily's direction. However, Alizine's face darkened when Emily refused.

"I'm not going without my friends," Emily spoke stubbornly. "I want it as part of my two favours."

The object Emily had once had in her hands before crushing it had the function of alerting Alizine of Emily's location. She and Alizine had come to an agreement of sorts, and it was the action of breaking the object that signaled Emily's agreement.

"You damn brat," Alizine's mouth twitched before she turned to face Arturia and the rest, her eyes resting on Gerrard and Charles.

"Leave them," she spoke. "We don't have much time to flee before this bounded field completely activates, and it will be impossible for you all if you have to drag others along with you."

"Then they won't have to."

From the trees in front of Alizine, Shirou appeared with Rule Breaker in hand.

Shirou's appearance caused Alizine to lift a brow. After all, she and Shirou had already met once before during the gathering of magi. Still, what caused Alizine's expression to shift from a raised brow to surprise was the Noble Phantasm in Shirou's hand.

As Alizine was well acquainted with Lord Archibald of the Archibald family, she had heard from him that Shirou had two Noble Phantasms in his possession, yet neither of the two described a dagger. Then didn't that mean that Shirou was in possession of three Noble Phantasms?

She held her tongue before her curiousty got the better of her. In which case, she just watched as Shirou made his way towards the magic circle and stabbed the dagger down over it.

As the circle disappeared swiftly under Shirou's gaze, he finally let out a sigh of relief as the feeling of energy leaving his body faded. Merlin had probably moved on to neutralize any of the other magic circles so it can be said that he and the rest had successfully made it through the encounter.

Briefly, he wondered how Morgan would feel if she knew that her last resort was so easily neutralized? It couldn't be helped though. There weren't very many things that couldn't be fixed using Rule Breaker. If one could disrupt the source of magic or the magecraft itself, then the entire spell would prove useless. It really was something of a cheat, and something he had abused even before he had arrived at the current timeline.

"H-How did you?" Alizine's expression was full of curiosity, and it appeared as she had finally failed to hold herself back from asking. She coughed in her hand and composed herself before staring out expectantly.

Shirou debated for a moment, but decided not to share Rule Breaker's abilities. It could bring far more trouble than what it was worth. As a result, Alizine's upper lip began to twitch, coldness exuding from her body as strong winds began to pick up.

She was not happy.

Luckily for him, Merlin showed up soon after, an appraising expression on his face. Noticing the situation, Merlin discreetly hid the copy of Rule Breaker in his possession before arriving.

Shirou quickly moved behind the famous Wizard, and away from Alizine's scathing gaze.

Soon afterwards, Merlin sorted everything out, and even took used a potion of healing on Gerrard and Charles, their complexions greatly improving.

With the bounded field dealt with, and Lord Vernier and his Knights out of commission, the entire group slowly made their way out of the estate. Once outside, Merlin posed the question on Shirou's mind.

"What brings you here today Lady Barthomeloi?" Merlin asked.

Currently the group was taking a break seated near the main road back towards Roan, Merlin having made seats from the nearby plants.

"Her," was the only response Alizine gave, pointing a finger out at Emily.

At which point, everyone turned towards the person in particular. Emily seemed to close inwardly on herself, shy from all the attention, but quickly regaining her calm under Alizine's glare.

Eventually, Emily sighed before standing up.

"This is my aunt from my mother's side," Emily introduced. "She wants me to return to the family to undergo teaching there."

When the words left Emily's mouth, perhaps the one the most surprised with the situation was Shirou himself. Never would he have had believed that Emily was related to the Barthomeloi.

"Then it's decided," Alizine spoke, grabbing hold of Emily's hand. "You will return to the house of Barthomeloi after a brief visit to Bristol as discussed."

Emily weakly nodded her head. It was her decision that she had made the moment she decided to break the object Alizine had given her prior. Besides, based on what she had seen today, she wouldn't be of any use at all if she wasn't stronger. As of right now, her goal was reaching a strength similar to her aunt's in order to help her friends. The only down side was that she was going to have to leave them and her parents behind until she was strong enough.

With everything sorted out, Alizine impatiently began to leave, staring expectantly behind her for Emily to follow.

"Goodbye everyone," Emily said softly.

Shirou nodded in return recalling the memories he had of this girl, and what it meant now that she was going to be taught in a prominent family of magi. "We'll meet again in the future," he spoke, raising a hand forward.

Emily was unsure of the gesture, but then quickly took Shirou's hand in her own. "It's a promise," she spoke smiling.

Emily then went to Palamid, Arturia, and then to the Son of Wolfred individually, pausing on the Son of Wolfred the longest.

"I forgive you," was all that Emily said after her goodbyes to the Son of Wolfred, leaving the youth in a daze.

Moments afterwards, Alizine forcibly took Emily away, having grown tired of waiting.

* * *

Ever since Emily left, a sense of urgency seemed to have taken root within Palamid and the others.

Bors, being the eldest in seniority in regard to Palamid and the Son of Wolfred sensed this the most. It was on one such day of seeing Palamid and the Son of Wolfred training in the yard that Bors brought up a certain subject.

"Palamid, it's time for you and the young master to return to home," Bors said. "I can see it in your eyes. You both don't want to be left behind having such companions: Two from Wizard families, and the other trained by a wizard. Which is why, it's best to quickly return and resume proper training."

"But, we can't just leave now," the Son of Wolfred said. "I haven't gotten to make a name for myself, so how can I possibly return back under father's shadow?"

"Then you'd rather weigh everyone else down in battle?" Bors said skeptically. "What will you do one day when you are the cause of a friend's death. What would you do if that person were Palamid or myself for example because we were covering for your faults? Strength is the only path in this world. Righteousness can come after. Diligence is key."

The Son of Wolfred remained silent, eventually nodding his head. As for Palmid, the young squire had long since resolved himself to return to training. In which case, there were no problems with Bors's suggestion of returning home to train.

"Good, then we leave in the following days. You and your friends will meet again when fate deems it right," Bors said.

-)

Elsewhere, a similar situation like Bors's was occurring within the front of the tavern in Roan.

"You're leaving, Gerrard?" Sir Ector asked.

Gerrard already healed most of his injuries, and today, the man was currently siting on the front porch putting on his footwear.

Hearing Sir Ector's question, Gerrard gave pause before answering, a seriousness in his eyes.

"Aye, if this battle has let me learn one thing, it's that my old man was right about a few matters that I should have had considered before. I'll be returning for now, but I'll be back eventually. Tell Red that sooner or later I'll be challenging him back to that Archery contest from years ago," Gerrard finished with a laugh, hobbling off with Charles following behind in a carriage.

Silently, Sir Ector watched the two men go.

In the flow of time, people meet, and then similarly, they part. What was occurring today was something that he had seen much of in his life with past friends and even family. The tavern would be lonely with everyone leaving, but Sir Ector was sure that everyone would return together one day soon. After all, he could understand the reason as to why everyone was departing. They could not grow stronger if they were to remain here. Unlike Shirou and Arturia, they didn't have a tutor like Merlin to train them.

Sir Ector let out sigh before turning around to see Kay staring at him with his back against a wall.

"So, when will training begin again?" Kay asked absently. "I just wouldn't feel right if I let any of those brats surpass me."

A small smile appeared over Sir Ector's face. "Knowing you, they probably will," Sir Ector joked.

Kay's expression remained blank. "That's not funny," Kay spoke flatly.

Sir Ector grinned in response, the two lapsing into a moment of silence as they stared out through the windows at the three outside.

What would the following years of training bring?

With a small shake of their heads, Sir Ector and Kay focused their attention towards the open fields where Merlin had an amused expression on his face while Arturia was chasing after him in a fluster; Shirou attempting to placate her from behind.

It was a peaceful sight, and one that caused the edges of Sir Ector's mouth to twitch into a fond smile. After all, looking out at Arturia now and comparing her to that determined and headstrong child of the past bound by duty, he felt a sense of fulfillment only a parent would know.

And it all started from that one meeting in her youth.

"C'mon father, there's no use in us just staying here watching," Kay spoke. "If anything, I can use that damned horse that found its way here for practice sharpening my blade."

"And lose the moniker of the Foul End?" Sir Ector rebuked, watching Kay's face darken.

"O shut up, by the time I'm done with that horse, it'll wish that it had never crossed me," Kay grunted out.

Sir Ector shook his head before reminding Kay of something vital. "Where is your sword, Kay?"

" _Fuck_ ," was the only word Kay said before he charged out of the room. A tragic wail soon followed that Sir Ector ignored.

Instead, Sir Ector returned to watching Arturia, Shirou, and Merlin out practicing in the fields. Watching the scene, he couldn't help but step forward, a giddiness to his gait. It was time to once again put his old bones to use.

At this time, no one would have had known the effects that would occur as a result of the battle at the Vernier estate. After all, when the matter had concluded, and the Knights of Vernier who survived returned to their families, a new name began circulating throughout the lands on par with the Witch Morgan and the Wizard Merlin.

The Wizard of Swords.

Shirou Emiya

-Young Adolescence: END


	28. Chapter 28

There seemed to be a sparkle in the reflection she saw staring into a pool of still water. The kind where it seemed as if it was the work of magic or a supernatural being.

She grinned smugly. It wouldn't be the first time that Merlin had done such a thing; though, sparkles were a first.

The woman didn't mind it as much, instead, growing still as her eyes stared upon the small silver locket around her neck. Raising a hand, she began to fiddle with it using her index and thumb; rubbing it gently as an absent expression made its way onto her face that only grew to become fond when the locket flipped open.

Inside was a small pressed flower and a drawing of a tiny lion cub; the one she had parted with years ago. She could still remember the efforts that that man had gone through to draw such an illustration. Even now, the drawing looked no better than a child's scratch and draw, but regardless, it was the sentiment that she cared about.

Closing the locket, she grasped it in her hand and stood silently.

She knew better than anyone that a Knight should not be wearing such decorative accessory, but it was something forged and given to her as a gift. Thus, she was obligated to wear it. However, only she knew that she was fooling herself. Her brother had often teased her about it to her dismay, yet she still wore it regardless.

Hidden beneath her blue battle dress and away from sight to save her the embarrassment.

Releasing the locket, and hiding it back beneath her attire, she shook her head to rid her of her unruly locks that had grown long with time.

Vibrant fibers of blond hair that cascaded down her back and framed her face with lengthy bangs that tussled with every movement of her head. Any other woman would feel proud of such hair, but to her, it was just something that was in the way.

Hands grasping her hair, she pulled up and quickly shaped it into a neat bun, yet that one strand of hair was impossible to tie; sticking out from her head like a sore thumb. Regardless, she was used to it by now and could only mumble out a small complaint.

The crunching of the grass behind her caused her eyes to sharpen with a vigilance hammered into her from her training. Someone was approaching. Straightening her back, Arturia quickly turned in the direction.

"Finished practicing, Arthur?" A kind voice spoke.

It was a man of sleek build, and a carefree expression that matched well with his untied blond hair that was longer than even her own. On his body was a rimmed plate armour that clinked with every step the man took.

"Bedivere," she spoke softly.

Bedivere was a friend she had made after the fall of the Vernier family. It was all by chance really. The young Knight Bedivere was actually looking for Shirou, but had ran into her instead. In which case, such incidents continued to happen throughout the years, and eventually, they had gotten to know each other bit by bit; forging a friendship of sorts that became competitive when it came to sparring.

However, she couldn't help but be suspicious of Shirou in this case. After all, it wasn't hard to find her first friend, but somehow it became increasingly so whenever Bedivere was nearby as well. She wasn't a fool, and eventually she realized what Shirou was doing after a subtle action from Sir Ector who had praised Shirou's foresight.

He was helping her make more friends. Not that she minded, but it only made her look at him more favorably whenever she talked with him. This itself was something that had been plaguing her mind over the years.

She was seventeen now, and she had grown to become a fully-fledged Knight under Sir Ector's guidance, but her mind would shut down whenever she talked with Shirou. Her heart would race, and a flush would come to her face, and at times she would even stutter unintentionally as if someone had grabbed her tongue mid-speech.

This was greatly troubling to her as she now felt that if there came a time where she had to make a decision under Shirou's gaze, she would make an irredeemable blunder. She had asked Merlin about it, thinking that it was a sort of magic, but her teacher's expression grew quite stiff before the man began cussing lowly and left without another word.

Baffled, she asked Sir Ector and Kay, but got the same result. By then, she finally considered bringing it up with Shirou, but with the resistance from Merlin, Kay, and Sir Ector she reluctantly let the matter drop. After all, who could she blame for Shirou suddenly having to recuperate from a sparring accident?

Therefore, she decided that she would have to solve this problem on her own.

"Yes, I just finished practicing," she replied back to Bedivere. "Have Shirou and the others returned yet?"

"No, not yet," Bedivere said. "They seem quite busy now that the Joust to decide the King is just two days away."

Arturia's brows furrowed in thought. Due to the fall of the Vernier family, the insistence to hold the Joust to decide the King was considerably delayed. However, it would seem that there was no more putting it off. Britain needed a King to lead its people from the invaders. Now more than ever after word of further expansion by the Saxons, the Jutes, and the Gauls.

In fact, a call to arms has already been issued by the dominion Lords once again, but their influence still paled in comparison to a King's. Thus, the Joust was necessary in the eyes of the people.

However, to her, it was a deadline. She would have to draw forth the sword from the stone before then. As for Shirou and the others, the reason they were gone was in preparation for that. For once she drew forth the sword in the stone, the next objective was to unite the people of the land. And for that, they would need to begin a journey.

"Did they say when they'd get back?" She asked curiously.

"I'm not sure about Sir Ector and the others, but Shirou still owes me that spar so he should meet with me some time soon." Bedivere said.

Hearing those words, Arturia had to force the glee away from her face. Coughing into her hands, she composed herself. "Then I suppose I'll be coming with you," she said quickly.

Bedivere stared at Arturia for a moment, and then shrugged. "By all means Arthur. I know you want to defeat Shirou, but I don't think you'll gain much from watching a spar between us. After all, you've already bested me in swordplay. There's nothing new for you to see. Are you sure you still want to come? Or do you just enjoy seeing my losses?"

"…" She stayed silent, not wishing to answer.

Bedivere laughed good naturedly. "Well, come along then."

The two walked away from the small creak Arturia had been practicing by and made their way back to Roan. As they passed by people on the street, the residents would wave to them here and there.

"Sir Arthur, the hunting team came by a while ago and I've just acquired some dried meat for you to have. Please take it and…"

"I know," she finished for the woman who just offered up her goods. "I'll let him know that he received your kindness."

"Thank you, thank you," the street woman bowed lowly before returning to her shop.

Soon after, more and more people came offering things in gratitude. Whether it be apples, meat, and baked goods, they all seemed to have a favourable impression towards Arturia. However, only she knew that it was solely because of the reputation Shirou had built up in Roan over the years.

Shirou was, and always will be a man who didn't care about status and helped everyone. Here in Roan he was no different. Yet in the eyes of the people used to the actions of Nobles in the area, it was a first to see someone of Noble upbringing aiding a sick farmer during the harvest season. Similar situation would arise, whether it be aiding the poor, or standing up on their behalf, Shirou had done them all. He even went as far as to heal the sick which earned the gratitude of many. At this point, it wouldn't even be surprise if Shirou had more influnce over the citizens of Rona than even the ruling Noble families. After all, Shirou even helped give a basic education for all the children who took the time to listen to him after Merlin's magic lessons were over.

The gratitude people felt to Shirou was almost unimaginable to her. And because of this, that gratitude extended to her, Sir Ector, Kay, and everyone else associated with Shirou.

Then again, she would never get used to it when just by walking down the streets her hands would be full carrying all the gifts by the town's people. Bedivere was the same.

Nodding at each other, the two quickly decided to escape before they met anymore people.

With Bedivere in the lead, he soon brought her to the dueling fields where Knights and Squires trained with their swords.

It was an open place, with wooden posts hammered to the ground and linked together with wool to create a fighting area. Each duel was to be contained within to prevent opponents from backing too much in a spar and interfering with other duels.

Standing in one such ring was Shirou.

He was taller now. His hair although somewhat longer was still cropped evenly using his own sword. The hunting leathers over his body were the same as they were before; making him stand out from all the other individuals in the dueling fields who wore plate. Seeing this, she grew even more determined to accomplish what Sir Ector had once whispered into her ears in her childhood. If Shirou couldn't be a Knight the normal way, then she could still Knight him as a King.

Thoughts reaching up to this point, she decided on her first course of action after drawing forth the sword in the stone.

Still, once her eyes landed on him, she felt the urge to suddenly pat down her clothes, and straighten her hair lest it be out of place. However, she quelled that urge when she realized that Bedivere was looking at her strangely. After all, what sort of man plays with their hair and cares about how ruffled their attire was?

Bowing her head to avoid his gaze, she decided to move away and just watch the coming spar from the distance until she could compose herself more.

It was the same blasted feeling, she cursed. No matter how much time had passed, it only became stronger the more time she spent with Shirou. It was to the point where she had to actively steel her features whenever she talked with him lest she let something slip.

Sighing, she barely paid attention anymore when Bedivere began to spar with Shirou. Instead, she began to mull over her own problems. She had grown to be a strong woman, level headed, and clear of mind.

This was a disposition suited for one who would eventually lead her people, but in the face of this feeling that plagued her she had become impulsive, rash, and ignorant. It made her frustrated, but happy at the same time for some reason.

As she was lost in thought, she didn't notice Shirou and Bedivere's approach until their voices registered in her ears.

"I lost again," Bedivere complained. "Have you ever heard of going easy?"

Shirou rose a brow. "I wouldn't go easy on a friend. It makes it more likely that they'll survive in a battlefield."

Bedivere's mouth opened into an O, and the man fell silent.

As for Shirou, he seemed to be lost as he stared into Arturia's eyes. Then again, she was too, her pupils dilated and expression still caught in surprise.

"Arthur," Shirou said. "You've finished training."

"Y-Yeah?" Arturia spoke dumbly before pinching herself and clearing her mind through the pain. "Yourself?" She countered.

"I've already finished a while ago after helping Sir Ector and the others. I left them after the horses and carriage had been prepared to spar with Bedivere. Speaking of which, Merlin says they won't be back for a while." Shirou said.

"Horses and carriage?" Bedivere inquired.

Shirou smiled in his direction. "You'll understand it in the next few days. For now, though, we should get going. The sun is setting."

Saying that, Shirou and Arturia bid a confused Bedivere farewell before returning to the lodgings they were staying at.

Looking at each other, Arturia released a breath before taking in another, her hands balling into fists.

"Shirou," she spoke suddenly.

"Hmm?" Shirou hummed. His expression was tender; the kind he always looked at her with, and made her feel as if the man would do anything for her. Although, she believed this was part of her own imagination.

"…It's nothing," she eventually said, unable to convey what she wanted. Still, seeing the care in Shirou's eyes, her body subconsciously pressed against his; the action drawing a flush on Shirou's face.

In more ways than one, she wasn't the only one whose mind became muddled when she interacted with Shirou.

Unable to say anything, the two walked in silence back to their residence side-by-side like they always had throughout the years. Yet tonight would be different as Arturia would wake up in the middle of it to see Shirou leaving.

In the end though,

Where was he going?

* * *

The night breeze was biting as it crashed over his face, a shiver travelling down his back. He knew that what he was doing now was contradictory to his purposes, but,

He was drawn to it.

In the time he had spent in Roan, not only had he trained under Merlin, but he had spent time gathering information about the working of the world. In which case, the information he had acquired through the local underground Guild of sorts he had been introduced to, proved vital. It allowed him to cross reference about what he knew of Arturia's past, to what was going on now.

Because of this, it became apparently clear about the degree of changes he had already brought about. For starters, the implementation of a new farming method that started from Bristol and then spread out along the nearest towns. Not only did it allow local leaders to stock pile their supplies for the winter, but it also supplied their Knights and workers with more food. Thus, creating stronger armies.

However, this event was minor compared to others.

Particularly, the tale of the Blacksmith of the Iron Forge.

A blacksmith who was now sought after by not only the local Lords in power, but by the Saxons, Jutes, and Gauls just for the moral his forged weapons and armours gave in battle. It had even gotten to the point where an old Knight from the Knights of Wolfred retired and sold his equipment for lack of an heir, and a huge fight had resulted from the buyers.

It wasn't an exaggeration to say that the blacksmith of the Iron Forge would become a legend in his own right.

In fact, it was even said that an army with just a small order of Knights equipped with the blacksmith's armours and weapons could win any war.

_Armour that can shirk off the sharpest of swords and mitigate impact._

_And weapons that could shred through steel._

Knights equipped with such weapon and armours were monsters on the battlefield. Their only weakness, the frailty of the human body and exhaustion.

Even with all the information he had gathered on the topic, the most striking thing about it was the sheer reward some Lords and invaders were willing to part with just to obtain the blacksmith.

Land, money, status, they were all included.

This, more so in the case of the Saxons after several key defeats because of the armours and weapons held in the hands of the Knights of Wolfred.

_The Knights of Wolfred, a spear that strikes into the hearts of the enemy._

Numerous times already after their initial debut in the battle of the River Glein, this order of Knights, were called out again and again, gaining fame for their Lord and themselves.

They were mounted steel fortresses, just the sound of their march alone was enough to draw retreat form the enemy. They were now called the 'Wolves of the open Plains.'

And it was because of them that allowed Arturia more time before she would draw forth the sword in the stone. Thus, giving her ample time to train compared to her own timeline where she was forced to take up the blade earlier because of the pressing invasion. Now though, she had an extra few years' time.

And now that day was fast approaching where she would draw out Caliburn.

Thinking about this, his steps quickened in the dead of night.

It had been several years, and only now did he feel the need to go. After all, there were only two more days before the Joust was held and only two more day before Arturia would make her decision.

Now was the only time to settle himself. To put aside the calling that was resonating from within him.

His feet eventually brought him to a clearing bathed in moonlight and surrounded by trees. At the center lay a sword in the stone. It stood there, tall and gleaming in a sort of peerless light. A reflection of its majesty.

As he walked past the grass that grew to his waist, his movement caused a flurry of lights to go off around him.

_Fire flies buzzing in the night. Flying in circles around himself and the Sword of Choosing, Caliburn._

Caliburn thrummed as he stepped forward, gentle vibrations causing a dull rattling sound that echoed out across the field and towards the forest lining the area's perimeter. When he was but a foot away from the sword, in the darkness of the night, a pale light seemed to be emitting from it.

Hesitating for only a moment, his right hand fell upon the sword's hilt, and a dazzling radiance enveloped him as he placed strength into his grip.

_"_ _Doth thou drawith this sword from the stone?"_

A muffled gasp seemed to have come from the foliage of the trees behind him, yet at this moment, even if he had heard it, the importance of the decision in front of him far outweighed anything else.

This was what was calling him. Ever since he had set foot in Roan, the connection he felt towards this blade was unmistakable. Not only was it the first sword he had ever traced, but it was also one of the few he was the most familiar with. And it had been calling him. For he, like Arturia could wield it.

The grip he had on the hilt tightened further, the sword wobbling. With just a simple flick of his wrist, Caliburn would set itself free. Not even Merlin could have had predicted such a thing, yet here it was now seen by the eyes of not just himself, but another.

At that moment, a dim glow seemed to stretch from Caliburn up to his arm, and then spread across his body.

_"_ _Thou art worthy."_

The voice was soft, gentle even, and it was encouraging him to draw forth the sword.

Should he draw forth the sword?

His indecision caused him to falter. However, before he had arrived, he had already come to a decision.

His grip visibly loosened, his shoulders slumping as he turned around and pressed his back against Caliburn. The splendor of the light enveloping him did not recede in the slightest, rather it seemed reluctant to fade. He could only shake his head. Staring up at the distant stars, he sat silently in contemplation before he spoke softly into the night.

"I'm not the one to wield you."

* * *

The joust had begun long ago, yet Arturia still stood before Caliburn in a daze. Merlin was beside her, and was looking at her questioningly. Yet she didn't give any indication that she noticed.

A soft wind blew by, sending white dandelion buds sailing into the air.

It was a stunning sight, even more so when one took into account the soft glow exuding from Caliburn and the light from the sun's rays.

"Arturia?" Merlin finally asked questioningly. "Are you sure of you decision? The path that you will walk as a result will be one of many difficulties."

Arturia swallowed, Merlin's words registering in her ears, yet she still hesitated.

The scene of two nights ago still played in her mind. Was she really the destined King?

Up until this point, she had always believed that she alone could lead her people to prosperity. Therefore, she worked hard since youth, cast aside her own life as a woman, and then donned the persona of a man. Now that she reached this point, surely there should have been nothing to cloud her determination, and yet,

She had seen another who could be deemed worthy to be King. In fact, what she had seen last night left her stunned. Caliburn's reaction to Shirou alone was telling as even though Shirou had let go in the end, Caliburn's light seemed to refuse to fade unlike her when she removed her grip.

Even subconsciously, she felt that Shirou would be a better King than herself. He was kind, selfless, and compassionate. All the proof she needed was in front of her eyes every single time she just walked down the roads. The people of Roan adored Shirou, and as for herself, she had not done anything substantial yet.

Did she deserve to be King, when it was clear that there was another more suited?

She shook her head. It was too much for to decide right away.

"Merlin," she called out.

"Yes, lad?" Merlin said.

"What does it mean to be a King?" She asked clearly.

Merlin placed his hands behind his back, and then looked towards the sky. "That, Arturia, is dependent on one's own path to Kingship. Though I must warn you again, but the road you will walk will be fraught with difficulties."

She was silent for a long moment, the joyous sounds of the joust entering her ears.

"One's own path to Kingship," Arturia eventually mumbled to herself, yet she didn't seem convinced, rather, she was still troubled.

Still, as fate would have it, her hands reached forth for that hilt, her fingers curling around the leather grip.

_To create a Kingdom where all could live in peace._

_A Kingdom she could call home._

_And for a future where he would stand by her side._

She was Arturia Pendragon, son of King Uther, and rightful heir to the throne.

No matter what she felt about what she'd seen in the previous night, it didn't matter.

Because there was no longer any turning back.

With a single movement, a Sword had been drawn.

And a King had returned.


	29. Chapter 29

It was as if time had stopped as Shirou moved his gaze away from the scene of Arturia drawing forth Caliburn.

He was hidden, his back pressed up against the shrubs, and his mind elsewhere.

With Caliburn drawn, Britain once again had its chosen King, heralding the beginning of a long journey forward that had only just begun.

Releasing a breath, he pressed his back further into the shrubs, and only relaxed when Arturia and Merlin left the area towards the Joust still being held in the distance. Even then, he didn't miss the discreet glance Merlin sent in his direction.

With the kind of Wizard Merlin was, it was natural that Merlin had discovered him, but that didn't matter.

He reached a hand out in front of him and seemed to grasp out at the sky. A show of determination, for the time had come. All those years of preparation was just for the beginning of this moment.

The beginning of the tribulation and rule that would haunt her for the rest of her life. And that was what he wished to prevent. Britain would _not_ fall, and she would _not_ despair over an empire in ruins.

Instead, he would take on that burden if the time ever came.

Standing up, his gaze shifted towards the sudden silence in the Jousting competition. By now, it was increasingly clear to him that Merlin and Arturia had arrived. Therefore, the Joust must have been stopped just from the shock of seeing Caliburn alone and what it entailed.

_Hail Arthur, King of Britain, and Son of Uther._

The people in the land needed their King, and although Arturia's feminine features were present and had only grown more refined, no one would care or even notice as long as the King acted like a King. Yet at this instant, at the very start of it all, how easy would it be to garner the faith of the people?

It wouldn't be that simple.

Although many Nobles called forth for the King, they had done so in hopes of their own progeny to obtain the throne in the Joust. Now that the legitimate King had appeared, it was only natural that not all Nobles would be satisfied at the result.

It was the same in Arturia's original timeline, and it was the same now.

In fact, by the time he reached the square where the Joust was being held, it was only to see a handful of people still hesitating to bow in Arturia's direction, and even then, they were mostly commoners. The others, the participants, and heirs to Noble titles were glaring in unconcealed discontent.

Those people were just petty through his eyes.

Uther's words before his death proclaimed the King to be the man chosen forth by the Sword in the Stone. Nobles as they were, those participants in the Joust competition surely would have had already attempted to draw Caliburn, but failed. To be jealous of another now? It was only inviting his scorn, considering that it was such people that had helped fuel the ruin of Britain's empire in Arturia's timeline.

He wouldn't pay those Nobles any regard.

Instead, walking up to Arturia, their eyes meeting, he knelt on his knees on the muddied ground, and bowed his head lowly such that his intentions were clear. For a Noble this was shocking, as he completely disregarded all appearances for the sake of devotion.

"Hail King Arthur, Long Live the King!" His words resounded in the air.

Strong and unyielding, a sign of his absolute belief in the woman he would devote his life towards without question.

In the silence that ensued afterwards, Arturia gripped Caliburn's hilt tightly in her hands, staring forth at Shirou with an expression that nearly cause her lips to quiver. She had just drawn Caliburn moments before, and the doubts that had plagued her mind were still apparent. To have come to the Jousting event, and not have a single person acknowledge her, it was a blow that she couldn't deny had affected her even if she didn't reveal it.

Furthermore, the sight of seeing Shirou, the one also acknowledged by Caliburn kneeling before her, made her heart ache. Not only was he equally as qualified as herself, but he was now putting himself in a position below hers just for her sake. What had she done to deserve such a friend? Everything Shirou did was always for her sake. Helping her with the sword, taking her problems as his own, it almost made her feel as if she wasn't worthy enough to deserve someone like him. Yet at the same time, his actions for her made her want to cry.

He who would move for her sake when no one else would.

Almost instinctually, her bearing shifted at that moment. She wouldn't allow herself to be a person that dragged him down.

Her back straightened, her eyes, shining with a regal dignity that only now became apparent as she stared hard at those around her; Caliburn shining with a radiant pale luster that immediately drew everyone's attention.

She was the King, and she would lead her people to prosperity.

"Hail King Arthur, Long Live the King!" Stronger still, that voice echoed out once again.

One by one, people knelt around her.

"Hail King Arthur, Long Live the King!"

The commoners helped by Shirou in the past all began to crowd around the area, murmuring amongst themselves until they too joined Shirou in his actions.

Bedivere who had arrived moments earlier, smiled before pushing through the crowd, and kneeling. "Long Live the King!"

It was as if a chant had begun, making those that had once harbored discontent, now feel a sense of awkwardness as only they stood upright.

Arturia swallowed, staring at the crowd before her, now looking at her with reverence. Near the back, she could even spot Sir Ector and Kay with arms crossed nodding in her direction.

"I-I will save this Kingdom!" She stuttered out at first before her voice grew bolder. "I will lead the people!"

More and more, people were beginning to pay attention to her, and even Merlin nodded in her direction.

To sway the hearts of others was the duty of the King who leads all.

"We have done nothing more than live out our lives. If so, then what have we done to deserve being slaughtered by others like cattle for our land? No more will we fear under the oppression of our invaders! From today forth, we will drive them out of our country!"

Arturia placed a hand on her chest as she spoke, staring forth still at those Nobles who continued to shake their heads, then at Shirou who still remained kneeling before her. Her expression hardened. If they didn't recognize her, then she would force them to with her actions.

She clenched her fists. "I will lead this land to prosperity! That is my oath! I only ask that you give your all, and follow me!"

Closing her mouth in silence, she didn't notice when the image of a fierce red dragon formed from her aura and Caliburn's began manifesting behind her. The impression left amongst the people, casuing their throats to dry and eyes to widen.

Finished speaking, the first thing Arturia did was draw forth Caliburn and walk in front of Shirou in determination. This had been one her goals that she promised herself that she would do since childhood. She wasn't completely sure of the specifics as she had just become King, and Sir Ector hadn't explained it to her too thoroughly in her youth, but she knew the steps necessary to be done.

Quietly, she placed the flat of Caliburn's blade on Shirou's shoulder, and then to his other side.

"Will you accept Knighthood?" She asked quietly. Her method of knighting at this moment was not formal at all, but rather, more along the line of what Shirou had done when he had first proclaimed himself as her knight.

It was an instinctual sort of action, and something that her gut was compelling her to do after thinking about everything Shirou had done for her. To have him as her official Knight was not only a goal of hers, but secretly, a sort of dream that she hadn't been able to get out of her head ever since she had heard the idle conversations of the young maidens in Roan.

They had spoken of fantasies about a Knight whisking them away to a happily ever after. Thereafter, she had thought of the situation between Shirou and herself, the thoughts unable to leave her mind.

Even if she posed as man, there was no denying that the woman in her was still crying out, no matter how much she tried to ignore it. Yet it only became more difficult when Shirou pulled stunts like he had just now, showing just how much he cared about her.

At this moment, there was an ache in her chest that wasn't just because of how much bindings she had to use around it in order to wear her armour properly. It was a mental sort of anxiety because Shirou had all the rights to refuse a wet-behind-the-ears King like herself.

But as she expected, Shirou chose to remain by her side.

"My Sword, is your sword," Shirou said slowly, every word, causing a shiver to travel down Arturia's back which only intensified when Shirou lifted his gaze to stare up into her own. "From henceforth, I am your Knight. No matter the enemy, I will pave a path for you to walk forward."

She could only nod her head, not trusting her voice at this critical scene viewed and heard by all.

And so, recorded in history, this was the moment that King Arthur's Magic Knight of the Round Table was born.

The First of Knights, with the most dubious of ceremonies.

* * *

It was a Mid-Spring, and one of the most ideal times to march in a war as the cold and biting winds of the Fall and Winter were absent.

Currently, Shirou and rest were travelling by the rough roads throughout the countryside, a small troop of men behind them. These were the recruits they had managed to gather in Roan using the reputation Arturia had as the new King. However, the numbers weren't large in the least. Most of the Nobles in charge of platoons of Knights and able-bodied men held their forces back with the reason that Arturia wasn't King yet without an official coronation.

Sir Ector and the others convinced Arturia to leave those foolish Nobles behind in order to rally true support from the other Lords of the land. However, doing so would be no easy feat.

Just from the way information was spread across the current time period, even though Arturia had drawn Caliburn, not every Noble knew of this. At most, it could take several months before news even remotely reached the border territories of some Nobles. Perhaps then, they would willingly send more troops to bolster Arturia's own, but more than likely, they wouldn't act unless there was a hope in their actions.

Currently, there were only a few hundred men following behind the travelling caravan Sir Ector, Kay, and Merlin had spent most of the past weeks preparing. Food was in a surplus as Shirou's reputation in the town had many commoners willingly offer as much food as they could without running short for the winter. In this case, Arturia's new reputation as King only played a minor role as she had yet to prove anything to the populace. In fact, some of the Knights that had come along with her had come because of their relations to Sir Ector, Kay, Bedivere, and Shirou who frequented the Knight's training quarters while she was being trained by Merlin. Armoured, and equipped with war horses, they had enough Knights to corm a cavalry. Of course, these Knights came with the permission from their Lords who were at least showing some faith to Arturia.

Their current destination was towards the dominion of a border Lord in the East known as Lord Adinak requesting the help of his countrymen to help in his dire straits. Already the land he had used to own near the edges of the Anglan settlement of Mercia was on the verge of being overrun.

Till present day, no one had his calls for help, and it was already assumed by the Nobles in Britain that the borders of the Anglan settlement of Mercia would be expanding.

And indeed, it had in the past history, but this time was different. Unlike the past, Arturia would be moving in that direction first at the behest of Lord Barwheld who was defending near the borders of East Anglia.

Neither Shirou nor Arturia knew what the current situation was over there, but it would be a battle in the valley formed from the river Trent.

The time period of peace had already been used up, the Saxons, Juts, and Angles adjusting their tactics due to the emergence of the weapons and armours of the Iron Forge.

Now was the time for war, and the time for the rise of Britain's King.

After all, Shirou couldn't deny that the battlefield was where one obtained the most honours and to spread one's fame. It had been the same for him, Gerrard, and the rest.

It would be the same for Arturia now that she was no longer a child.

Trained by Merlin and Sir Ector, there was no way that she wouldn't stand out when she took to battle. Even more so when she was atop Llamrei, and was riding at the front of the group.

The terrain around them gradually began to shift away from the large forested regions to long bending waves of grass and shrubbery. A pleasant change as it would ease the burden of walking on unlevel ground caused by surface tree roots and toppled trees. However, Arturia's and the company's expressions grew grim.

Laid upon the grass and shrubbery, were the remains of dead country men; their flesh already rotten and eaten away by the wild life to the extent where only the bones covered in armours were left.

A foul stink of iron and decay lingered in the air, vultures flying overhead.

Arturia tightened the grip she had on her reins. "We have to hurry," she said urgently.

"We can't be so reckless," Sir Ector advised. "We don't know the situation, or the enemy's numbers."

"It's best if we sent Kay out in advance to scout the situation before making any sudden movements," Sir Ector supplied.

"They won't even spot me," Kay boasted, pulling up the rear.

Still, Arturia had yet to make a decision, staring hard at the corpses around her.

Shirou for his part remained quiet. The information from the future that he knew in the area may not be as accurate as it should be due to his interference. For starters, Arturia's first campaign was actually alongside Lord Barwheld in East Anglia. By the time she made her way to Mercia, the Angles were already prepared for her, the first major battle happening on the ridge just off from the valley of the river Trent.

It was a prime, and key location to hold, as the owner had a clear vantage over the river Trent and could halt the passing of any army over the bridge spanning the river.

Therefore, it was a good place to start. Assuming Lord Adinak hadn't fallen yet, then that ridge was a key location to prevent Mercia from sending out a larger army.

The bridge was the key.

It having been used against Arturia in her previous campaign in her original timeline. Not only did the Angles prevent her armies from crossing to invade, but the river completely eliminated Arturia's advantage of the heavy armoured cavalry she was famous for creating.

Thus, the ridge was actually a prime location to start, yet it would be a gamble. If the ridge was already occupied by the Angles, then they would be at a disadvantage and would have had alerted the Angle's of their movements. Both of which weren't beneficial.

However, if it wasn't occupied, then it would give them a chance.

Debating within his mind, he finally decided to share his opinion with Arturia much to her delight when he went into the specifics.

Merlin for his part, only gave Shirou a long stare, seemingly trying to decipher something from the boy that other Magi knew as the Wizard of Swords. However, Merlin didn't come up with anything.

"March," Arturia spoke, leading the group forward.

* * *

Lord Adinak was at his wits end.

"Those blundering cowards!" He raged, shattering a goblet of wine one of his retainers had used to pacify him.

Clearly, he would have none of it.

Lord Adinak was in an outpost situated just near the bridge across the River Trent, a vital location necessary to be defended to prevent larger groups of invaders from reaching his lands. However, it would seem that even the outpost he was in was bound to fall.

"How many arrows do we have left?" Lord Adinak inquired.

"Barely a dozen sir," the attendant that spoke dipped his head. "We won't make it will we?"

Lord Adinak snorted. "Better to die with honour than to sit and wait drinking wine. We wouldn't be in this situation though if reinforcements would come. We aren't losing right now just because we lack equipment, it's because we lack men to wield the swords in reserve."

The attendant fell silent.

"Instead of sending reinforcements, those other Nobles put their priorities towards that blasted joust of theirs to decide a King? What is the use of a King when my lands fall into ruin under enemy hands?! The self-centered bastards. If their lands were the one's under siege than they would understand why I called them pricks in the last letters."

"My Lord," the attendant spoke, his gaze staring forth outside. "They've arrived."

Lord Adinak narrowed his eyes before grabbing his sword, a claymore in which he wielded with one hand due to his own brutish strength. "So be it. Gather the men outside. If we lose this outpost, then even if we escape, this land is as good as dead. After all, the numbers we already face would more than double as a result, and we're barely holding up as it is."

"Ready my armour," Lord Adinak said, raising his arms as he allowed the attendant to fasten on his steel plate armour.

Standing up, Lord Adinak revealed an intimidating figure nearly two-meters tall and covered from head to toe in iron. The brown mantle he wore over his shoulders billowed in the wind as he walked outside to face the enemy.

His men were gathered in a small formation of a hundred, their enemies ascending forth from the ridge of the Valley of the River Trent, numbering in the thousands.

Just from the numbers alone, the situation already appeared bleak, yet Lord Adinak was fighting a defensive battle. The fortifications made near the outpost would not fall so easily. The large timbers of wood used to make the walls were study, and would take time for even an enemy battering ram to dent.

Yet, Lord Adinak's expression frosted over when he noticed the flames the Angles carried in their hands.

"Soak the walls!" Lord Adinak immediately commanded.

Residing near the River Trent, there was a surplus of water that Lord Adinak could use. Once the Walls were soaked, it would be hard for the structures to catch fire. However, the Angles had prepared themselves thoroughly, another group of them appearing near the river to prevent anyone from drawing near.

"Shit," Lord Adinak cursed while gritting his teeth.

The situation wasn't looking good.

"We have no choice but to engage," Lord Adinak spoke calmly. "If we stay here, then we will all but assure the enemy of their victory. And none of you should even think about surrendering, you know that they don't take captives."

All the men present nodded.

"Sound the horns," he spoke swiftly, placing a metal helm over his face. "Death's grip grows stronger, but our _Will_ will see us through. Charge with me, for it's the only hope we have. We'll hold them on the bridge. They will not be able to surround us, and it'll prevent them from spreading our numbers thin."

"We'll follow!"

Lord Adinak and his Knights quickly left the outpost and retreated towards the bridge over the River Trent. Once there, they took their positions and watched hollowly as the outpost in front of the bridge that they had once occupied was reduced to the ground.

The fiery flames reflected directly into their eyes, giving them a sense of hopelessness. Be that as it may, Lord Adinak still stood strongly at the front.

"They're coming," he said. "Prepare yourselves."

After destroying the outpost, the Angles were already making their way towards the bridge, several dozens of them already charging down its length. They wore amours hidden beneath thick pieces of wool and cotton, large circular wooden shields fastened to their arms. Their weapons were axes and swords held loosely in their dominant hands.

And like a clashing of ice and fire, the two forces met.

"Hold!" Lord Adinak bellowed, striking forth with his weapon and sweeping an enemy right from under his feet.

The rest of the Knights faired fairly well, pushing back the Angles by spacing themselves out evenly along the bridge to prevent getting surrounded. It was a solid plan, yet none something sustainable.

When the first Knight died, the spacing became wider, and when the next died, the spacing became wider still.

"Fuck," Lord Adinak cursed, falling back further down the bridge along with his men.

However, it became apparent what the results would be in the end.

Using every ounce of power Lord Adinak and his Knights could muster, they forced the Angles back into a temporary respite.

Both sides stood opposite from each other with neither side moving. However, the Angles just rotated with other men that were less injured while Lord Adinak and his Knights didn't have that option.

Grinning bitterly, Lord Adinak turned to his remaining men.

"Retreat you lot, let your Lord take upon all the honours," he spoke through a bloody smile.

"L-Lord Adinak," the Knights stuttered. They weren't fools, and they knew what their Lord intended.

From the moment the battle began, it was almost hopeless to achieve victory, however, that didn't mean that escape was impossible. It was just that rather than escape himself, Lord Adinak was allowing his Knights, the one's who stood loyal to him till the end, to escape above all.

Clenching their fists, those Knights hesitated as they backed away, yet they didn't leave; watching silently at their Lord's final stand.

"You fools," Lord Adinak whispered under his breath, yet it was clear that the man was far from calm. Closing his eyes though, he resolved himself. "So be it," he said.

He would show a valiant end for those who stood behind him.

When the Angles noticed that only a single man lay standing on the enemy side, they looked on with contempt, ready to begin the attack once more. However,

"AAARGHH!" Lord Adinak shouted, swinging the massive claymore in his hands in a wide arc that bisected the nearest Angle, and then the next.

It didn't matter for the Angle's wooden shields and fastened armour, they all broke under the ferocity of Lord Adinak's swings. Since young, Lord Adinak always prided himself in his natural born strength, and this strength only increased with age.

Those Angle's that weren't immediately bisected by Lord Adinak's attack were instead thrown straight off of the bridge and into the deep water.

"Come!" He bellowed.

It was a scene of single man holding his own against an army.

When the arrows fell over him, the shield over Lord Adinak's back was used to cover the majority of his body, rendering them useless.

It wasn't till a towering axe wielding Angle appeared to combat Lord Adinak that tension began to arise. After all, Lord Adinak knew that this enemy was a veteran, and he was strong too.

This was only proven when the axe met Lord Adinak's guard and nearly broke it.

"Gah," he winced as a numbness filled his shield arm.

Yet the attacks hammering over Lord Adinak were unrelenting, forcing him to his knees in his exhaustion. If he were at his peak, this man should have had been no problem, but now after fighting off so many men, he was nearing his breaking point.

As such, he knew that the fight was over when the axe pulled away his shield.

Yet Lord Adinak's eyes only narrowed knowing that his death was coming. He had already resolved himself since the moment he decided to participate in battle.

Nonetheless, he would be lonely in his grave if he were to go alone.

Blood pumping furiously within him, he pushed his body forward towards that descending axe and lined his sword up to pierce through the gap of his enemy. The enemy didn't even notice. At this precise moment, he knew that his attack would land, yet so too would his enemies.

That descending axe would strike him directly across the collar bone; tearing a line straight into his chest in which there was no surviving.

"Die you bastard!" Lord Adinak cursed out before his sword pierced forward while he prepared himself for his death throes, however, something shocking occurred instead.

It was almost too fast to see, but he had seen it due to his close proximity. In slow motion, a steel projectile lodged itself into the head of Lord Adinak's enemy and sent the rest of the body flying along with it. Lord Adinak's weapon still stuck in the Angle's body ended up immediately out of his hands.

"What in God's name!" Lord Adinak backed away in fright, staring at the remains of his enemy. "A-A sword? But that's impossible."

Where the enemy lay after tumbling continuously against the ground, a twisted sword was lodged firmly into the enemy's head despite the armour covering it. In fact, the impact was so forceful that Lord Adinak was almost certain that the head should have had separated from the body. It was a miracle it hadn't.

In his confusion, Lord Adinak stared dumbly as the rest of the Angles that were surrounding him atop the bridge were reduced to an equal state as their companion. Yet, unlike their companion, Lord Adinak could tell that the others suffered a stronger attack than the first, craters in the wood of the bridge lining each point of landing. Therefore, he was quick to deduce that the first attack he had seen was reduced in strength because he was too close to the enemy.

_W-Who was the marksman?_

Standing still, his remaining Knights who had been watching since the start immediately flanked his location, propping their shields up in defense.

"Sir, A-Allies!" One of Lord Adinak's Knights spoke excitedly.

Lord Adinak almost couldn't believe it.

His countrymen had come!

Yet, this thought froze in his mind when he turned to stare in the direction his Knights indicated that allies were coming from.

After all, it was too regal. Like God's hands parting the Red Sea.

It was a mounted cavalry piercing a line directly through the Angle's army. They destroyed and trampled the Angles beneath large hooves, and the few that survived were quickly decimated by the swords, and arrows shot from the leading group.

Most of all, his eyes remained rooted staring forth at that figure leading the charge.

_A Dragon in the form of man._

It was striking.

Wreathed in a deep blue mantle, and a visage hidden behind an ominous steel helm, it was a reaper of the battlefield.

_A sword that was fire, and a charge that was a hurricane._

Twisted swords shot out into the air, killing all in possession of spears, the bane of cavalry.

A voice thundered through the ridge accompanied by the tremble of hooves.

"I am Arthur, son of Uther!"

"Lord Adinak, and Knights of the Lord,"

"Rally to your King!"


	30. Chapter 30

It was like a God send in the eyes of Lord Adinak and his Knights.

In their time of need, they appeared like thunder; a stamped of steel and horses that trampled their enemies underfoot, and making a beeline towards their location.

Billowing in the wind, the flag of a Red Dragon hung proudly fastened to the end of a long spear.

_A Coat of Arms._

"Rally!" Lord Adinak gave the order, drawing his men towards Arturia and her charging cavalry. "Rally to the Red Dragon!"

Limited by the area of the bridge, and not expecting a sudden cavalry charge, all the Angles that had run up to attack Lord Adinak were completely helpless. There was no escape for those at the front line other than to jump off the bridge, but the river beneath was turbid, and their armours and weapons would weigh them down.

To escape meant death, to fight also meant death.

Their weapons were not suited to stop cavalry, even more so when said cavalry was armoured.

"Retreat you bastards!" Those at the very front of the bridge yelled hysterically at those still frozen behind them.

However, even with the prompting, they weren't fast enough.

Twisted steel swords sailed across the air, pinning those furthest back in place, or out right killing them. Within moments, a dozen or more died and blocked the path of retreat with the dead bodies they left behind.

"M-Madness," the Angles cursed in a panic, eyes growing paranoid as they looked towards the sky. Those twisted steel swords _, they moved too fast_ ; the sound of their approach only registering after the projectile had landed. "What kind of weapon is that?!"

Even with the latest news of the famed Knight Platoon of Wolfred with their armours and equipment, this sort of enemy and weapon was something that they had never encountered before. Unlike that Gerrard of the Swift Wind of the past, although his arrows were dangerous and killed hundred in a single shot, the intervals were long and delayed. However, this new enemy using this unheard-of weapon was firing off those twisted swords in rapid succession.

There was no end to them: stifling and suppressing their movements.

Yet, if they remained where they were, they would die because of the approaching cavalry.

The situation was hopeless, their deaths utterly meaningless now that they couldn't even secure the location.

Some began laughing madly, their eyes turning bloodshot before they ran forward with no regards for their lives.

It was suicide.

Met with the charging cavalry, they didn't even last a second upon first contact. Blood splattered across the creaking bridge as bodies were thrown left and right; only pieces remaining after being trampled or sliced apart by swords.

"Hold!" Arturia called, signaling with a raised a hand to halt the charge.

She then looked calmly at the fleeing enemies past the bridge and quickly came to a decision when the retreating Angles split up into smaller groups.

"Kay," she called, the voice coming from her helmed visage sounding a little distorted.

"At your service," Kay said, riding up next to Arturia.

"Gather a group of Knights and chase the enemy," Arturia said.

Because of the enemies actions of splitting into smaller groups, she was more confident in Kay's chances of victory as the pressure would be considerably lighter.

Kay flipped open his visor and gaze Arturia a smirk. "Gladly."

Placing his visor back down, he turned and shouted to the friends he had made in Roan. "Let's make a killing," he said to them while charging forward.

As for Arturia, she remained where she was as she sensed Lord Adinak's approach.

The Knights behind her gave her looks of admiration. At first, they had only come because of Sir Ector and the rest, but with the leadership Arturia was displaying, their opinions were changing when it came to her. This was especially so when they turned their attention towards Shirou, the only one in the group of Knights not in plate armour. He stood out like a sore-thumb in the middle of a sea of metal; especially with that absurdly sized black bow in his hand and a twisted sword in the other.

What Shirou had done was not humanly possible in the Knights eyes.

Shooting atop such a galloping horse with such a massive black bow, and with pinpoint accuracy? It was absurd. More so when the Knights saw swords seemingly forming from thin air.

This was not a man that they would wish to mess with, let alone antagonize. The fact that he unquestioningly followed Arturia as her First Knight only increased Arturia's standing in the Knights eyes.

One who commanded someone of such power deserved respect.

"You are, Arthur?" Lord Adinak glanced at Arturia before his attention shifted towards Shirou and paused. The man was staring increasingly hard at the black bow and twisted sword in Shirou's hands.

Releasing a breath, Lord Adinak eventually turned his attention back to Arturia. "Son of King Uther?"

Arturia nodded before revealing the sword in her hands. "And the one who drew forth the Sword in the Stone, the new King of Britain."

For a moment, there was silence as Lord Adinak processed all of what Arturia had just said before the man let out a gutter laugh.

"Serves those scheming bastards right! What happened to the joust?" Lord Adinak asked in amusement.

"Adjourned," Arturia said simply.

Placing a hand beneath his chin, Lord Adinak fell in thought before speaking.

"If what you said is truly so, then the number of men you've brought with you doesn't match the amount you should have had with the number of Noble families that participated in that joust. What, do they refuse to lend me their aid even now?" Lord Adinak said sarcastically.

Lord Adinak was already completely fed up with his Noble brethren's lack of support. In fact, he could argue that if he had their support sooner, then his lands wouldn't have been conquered to such a state where he had even lost his ruling castle. Regardless of that humiliation, Lord Adinak could swallow it down like a bitter medicine, but what he couldn't swallow was that over a ninth of his lands had already been overrun. Those conquered areas having had all of its people killed and replaced by the Angle inhabitants who had already began calling it a part of Mercia.

"Well, it's a little complicated," Arturia said unsurely.

"Complicated my ass," Sir Ector cleaned the blood off of his sword before grunting in contempt. "Those pretentious Nobles don't recognize Uther's words as law; still trying to find a way to get their own sons to the throne. A few even outright choosing to disregard them."

Saying that, Sir Ector sheathed his blade before turning his attention on Kay and his group of Knights pursuing the enemy. Thus, remaining silent.

Arturia for her part nodded towards Shirou's direction after taking a moment to ponder.

It was one of Merlin's lessons to read the flow of the battlefield. As the leader, she had the duty to defeat the enemies of her people. As such, all manor of strategies was taught to her by both Merlin and Shirou, one of which was exceedingly clear.

"Understood," Shirou said.

Without pause, he dismounted from his horse and propped himself at an elevated hill. Thereafter, his body became taught, the action visible from beneath his leathers.

Eyes narrowing, the twisted sword in Shirou's hands nocked itself onto the massive black bow. The draw length requiring Shirou to use his entire arm's length. Muscles rippling, and veins bulging out, an arrow was launched; the action sending up a cloud of dust and debris around him.

Surprise was the greatest advantage in war. It was the same for the current situation where they easily defeated an army of larger size so quickly. Alerting the enemy would give them time for preparation, and such preparation would only lead to casualties on Arturia's end.

It was definitely not something that she would allow with the gratitude she felt towards the men who had left Roan to follow her. More so when she considered the lives in her group that she absolutely refused to lose.

She wouldn't know what she would do at that point if someone died because of her actions, and Shirou knew this better than anyone. A King who would shut off all emotions in the end even when her Knights left her one by one.

It was not something he wished to see again, even if it was only a distant memory.

Faster than the wind itself, wisps of white tendrils trailed from the twisted sword's point.

A zipping noise, all that was heard in the silence of the valley overlooking the plains.

And from where they stood, everyone saw the plum of dirt and grime that erupted in the distance over a thousand meters away. They could feel its impact. More so when the the tragic cries of pain and despair distorted by the distance, reached their ears.

"W-What is his shooting range?" Lord Adinak asked gob-smacked. Evidently, he wasn't the only one as all of the Knights who weren't familiar with Shirou suddenly had their mouth going dry. This only became more evident when they realized that even Arturia didn't know the answer when she shook her head.

Arturia only had an inkling of an understanding of it even after having lived for over ten years with Shirou. After all, Shirou had never practiced archery in front of her, let alone his method of firing swords. Very rarely had she seen it, but based on the sound and strength put into each shot, she could make an estimate of the range.

As far as his eyes could see.

Shirou had never missed a shot.

It was almost mechanical in the way that a new twisted sword would appear in his hands after he fired. Each fell towards the ground like rain, mighty hammers that pummeled flesh into paste. And through it all, Shirou didn't even bat an eye.

He had never been one for killing, never would be.

His gaze scanned the fleeing enemies before he readjusted his position and fired once more, not a trace of sweat on his brow.

_One died pinned to a boulder._

_Another skewered through two other men._

The others watching swallowed nervously, knowing that they would fair no better if they were in the enemy's place.

Suddenly, that sound of cutting wind became chilling; like the Devil's hand brushing against the back of their necks. It was more so for the fleeing men in the distance. Hardened as they were to war, they would never again hear an arrow's whistle and react the same way.

Shields could stop arrows, but shields could not stop those twisted metal contraptions heated red from the friction of the air.

He didn't care for their reactions, always maintaining a strong front as he fired shot after shot.

_Because there was one gaze that always watched him more worriedly than the rest._

And it was not one he wished to see pale due to his own reservations.

With hands gripping tightly on to leather reins even as her lips pursed together beneath a helmed visage, Arturia watched without a single word. She knew Shirou better than anyone. From the child who grew up and put up with her, to the boy who left his place of origin without question on the behalf of a little girl swinging her sword in the fields, he had never changed. That youth who became the most adored of an entire town just for the way he acted on a regular basis, to the man he was now; she knew that it was impossible that he was unaffected by killing.

Yet for her, not a change could be seen on his expression.

He fired, and fired again, not knowing how many lived he had ended upon the loosening of his fingers.

By this point, everyone else watching became numb to the sight, staring at Shirou who reduced an entire flat plain within the Valley of the River Trent into a field of red. Those twisted swords were numerous and spread out erratically, pinning bodies in place. Some stood standing, others pinned to trees and boulder, while the less fortunate weren't even in one piece.

No man who ventured forth into that area wouldn't affected by the sight. In fact, the Angles Kay and the others were in pursuit of seemed to glance over and pale considerably with their bodies involuntarily stiffening.

"It's done," Shirou said, standing up and walking back towards his mount near Arturia.

Every Knight he walked past gave him way without question, both respect and trepidation within their eyes.

Finally, he arrived next to Arturia who gave him a nod of thanks for his efforts.

There wasn't much in her thanks, but it conveyed all the emotions that she wanted to pass to him. More so when she insisted he ride with her when she discovered an injury on his horse from the recent charge.

Llamrei was more than strong enough to carry two, and when Shirou mounted on, Arturia subconsciously rested a hand on Shirou's minutely trembling arm. Even if Shirou had been trying to hide it, she alone had noticed it because of how attentive her gaze was on him.

"Sorry," she whispered.

Shirou shook his head.

His ideals and principles aside, he had already come to a decision long ago. His reason for searching, and the place he had arrived at now, it was all for this.

To see her again.

And if he had to choose to sacrifice his ideals over the woman he devoted his life to, the answer was only natural. Although it might pain him to do so, there were things that Arturia couldn't do on her own. And better for him to sully his hands with the blood of thousands rather than her. Instead, she could focus on defeating the people that really mattered, shining at her brightest.

Affirming his resolve, he then shifted his weight over Llamrei to make his and Arturia's positions less questionable in the eyes of those around him.

"H-He is?" Lord Adinak questioned slowly while starring at Shirou.

Arturia straightened her back when she heard Lord Adinak's inquiry.

"My Knight," she spoke, a hint of pride in her voice that she didn't even notice.

"Oh…" Lord Adinak trailed off.

Based on the attire Shirou was wearing, Lord Adinak had the impression that Shirou could be employed for hire. In which case, it was truly unfortunate now that Arturia said that Shirou was her Knight.

Clearing his throat, Lord Adinak spoke again.

"Then Arthur, what do you plan to do now?" Lord Adinak asked.

Arturia gave Lord Adinak the impression that she was confused. Indeed, this was so when she voiced her own question.

"Are we not going to reclaim the lands lost?" She asked.

Lord Adinak felt as if the Heavens were finally answering his pleas. For a grueling three years now, he'd had to watch as those under him had to die month after month with no help coming in from the other Nobles. Now, with the coming of the new King, he could foresee a future out of the dark shadows of the past years.

Tough as he was, his eyes began to water upon hearing Arturia's words. It had been too long since he had received hope from a situation that was so bleak. Even the Knights that had followed him couldn't help but show their emotions. Yet this didn't last long. Instead, they quickly composed themselves.

"Then we'll have to trouble you," Lord Adinak said bowing.

The man then moved over to stand in front of Shirou.

"And you as well," Lord Adinak said with respect.

Shirou nodded in agreement as many stared at him.

This was expected as his performance was bound to draw attention. Even Merlin at the side gave him a knowing glance. This was the attention magic would bring upon the common people. Merlin for example had only used his magic in public in a couple of occasions, yet his name was now known throughout the lands.

Merlin though, would not interfere in Arturia's campaign, only watch as an overseer.

However, Shirou was different.

With Shirou's and Arturia's agreement, Lord Adinak then led everyone towards one of the settlements he had created a temporary barrack at after Kay and the rest returned.

The barrack was simple in make, sturdy cut trees and branches held together by wound rope and dried mud. Watch posts were positioned on all four corners of the barrack with two entrances at both the front and rear.

Entering, Arturia noted down the expressions of the Knights holding down the fort and saw little light in them. Most were downcast, and even outright avoided her gaze.

Lord Adinak was not impressed with their reactions, but he couldn't fault them because of how the situation had tuned out before Arturia's intervention. Still, he wouldn't tolerate it at this turning point.

"At arms!" Lord Adinak yelled, smacking the back of a Knight brooding by the northern watch post. "We have with us today the hope of avenging our brothers and countrymen!"

Lord Adinak's words were like trumpets in their volume, rousing everyone in the barrack. However, when Lord Adinak presented this hope in a group of mounted Knights numbering only in the hundreds, the reaction was less than pleasing.

They turned, they looked, and then they went back to brooding.

"You damn bastards, do you not know who this is?!" Lord Adinak yelled with a vigor.

Walking through the barrack, Lord Adinak gathered every able-bodied man inside into the middle of the area.

"This is our new King," Lord Adinak introduced Arturia. "Son of Uther, he is Arthur Pendragon. He who drew forth the Sword from the Stone."

A quiet murmur spread through the Knights in the barrack before all their gazes sharpened. They all knew what it meant for one to draw forth the Sword from the Stone.

_The King chosen to lead the kingdom to prosperity._

Even if it were just a legend to keep their faith, they had nothing else to lose anymore. The enemies didn't accept prisoners, therefore surrendering meant death just as much as fighting. After all, the enemies didn't invade their land for commodities, but for the habitable land itself to call home. For such a reason, they didn't want any of the previous inhabitants to remain.

Because of this, Lord Adinak's men and even the other powers in the area would have to band together to resist. Even cowards had to fight simply because there was no other choice.

"We follow the King," Lord Adinak and the Knights began pledging loyalty one by one.

Despite the lack of coronation, these people eventually decided to place their faith in the words passed down at the end of Uther's reign.

_A Victorious King._

Lord Adinak soon led Arturia, Sir Ector, Kay, Shirou, Merlin, and Bedivere, into a tent lit up by small candles within. Said candles were flickering atop a flat wooden table with a sheep-skin map stretched across its length.

This tent was the command center of Lord Adinak's operations and the site where Lord Adinak spent most of his days stressing.

The map over the table had numerous red markings, and only a few blue markings remained in the territory carefully drawn on the map.

"I don't have much left of the territory," Lord Adinak said solemnly. "That bridge over the River Trent we've just defended has given us more time before the enemy can take the rest of my lands. Look here,"

Lord Adinak pointed on a specific position on the map. Based on the geography it was exactly where the bridge they just defended was.

"By defending the bridge, we've reduced the enemy to another stalemate as they can't use the majority of their numbers to surround us, but I want you all to pay attention to is the castle in front of it."

Lord Adinak slid his index finger from its point on the map to another location.

"My ruling Castle," Lord Adinak explained. "We'll need to recapture it as most of my armoury and weapons are stored there. With it, I'll once again be able to arm more men rather than rely on wooden planks and sharpened sticks as you saw outside."

Indeed. Some of the Knights in the barrack were barely armed with anything. Arturia had even seen one in the process of tying a rock down to the end of a thick branch. It was primitive at best and would not last multiple use. It was definitely a problem that needed to be fixed.

Still though, Arturia was curious about something.

"Why did you leave your armoury behind?" She asked.

Lord Adinak grimaced.

"It wasn't for lack of trying," Lord Adinak said. "My castle was nigh-impenetrable. Built on top of a layer of hard rock, those bastards weren't able to tunnel inside. Its walls were also reinforced numerous times and filled with open slits to allow my men to attack invaders from within."

"Then how'd you lose the castle?" Bedivere asked.

"We grew hungry," Lord Adinak said.

Thereafter, a silence followed.

"Those bastards camped directly outside our castles walls, and intercepted out food supplies. Day by day after our food had run out, we grew weaker. It was to the point that my men could barely fend off the make-shift battering rams the enemy sent to the gates. Eventually, those gates were pried open; myself and a couple of my Knights the only ones to escape in the chaos. Now I'm here."

Arturia put on a troubled expression, but nodded her head with Lord Adinak's explanation.

"We'll have to recapture the castle then," Arturia said decisively before crossing her arms to think. "With the walls around the castle, it'll be hard to use our cavalry advantage unless we somehow lure the men inside, out."

Arturia's expression twisted into a frown. She couldn't act rashly as she had to take into account the lives of the Knights following her. To charge in, although she was confident that she herself could break down the gates with a single use of mana-burst, a majority of the Knights who followed her could not.

"That approach is too difficult," Kay shot Arturia's proposal down.

"The enemies that have taken over the castle should have stored a supply of food within. Unlike them though, we can't use a similar tactic of starving them as their reinforcements would be quick on their way," Sir Ector explained.

Falling silent once again. Bedivere for his part looked back and forth between the men in the room, unknowing of what he could say to contribute. However, it was then that Shirou decided to open his mouth.

"For such things, just leave it to me," he said calmly.

* * *

Night had fallen over the barrack, and the majority of the people within it were now sleeping. Only two were still awake, and that was because one had decided to forge Lord Adinak a pair of war hammers to match his build after the man's sword had broken in the previous battle. In which case, he needed the weapons to be permanent, so he built them himself.

Flames danced within the fires of the forge as Shirou hammered away at the melted down armours worn by the Angles. The metal smoldering, and glowing a fiery red as sparks flew with each flick of the hammer over the anvil.

Not too far off from Shirou sat Arturia. She had her legs sprawled in front of her, and was using her elbows to support her weight as she leaned forward.

No matter how much Shirou insisted for her to rest, she would refuse, not saying anything as she watched him hammer away in the night.

Small trails of smoke left grey wisps to ascend to the stars above.

"What would you do if you were King?" Arturia asked after a moment, her expression attentive.

Shirou paused in his hammering only for a moment before resuming.

"I wouldn't make for a good King," he said absentmindedly before soaking the heated metal in a basin of water and then putting it back in the heat.

The sound of crackling flame only grew louder.

He didn't notice the way Arturia only stared at him harder in the process.

"No," she whispered softly, shaking her head. "You would make for a great King," she insisted sincerely, a hand to her chest. "You're kind, compassionate, and don't judge others before lending your aid. Anyone could see that, and it shows in the gratitude of the others around you."

She was clear enough on this fact. Even in childhood, it was always him that acted first and her that followed. The first meeting that they had with Emily and the Son of Wolfred was a prime example.

His body paused as he could feel the emotions that Arturia put into her words. Slowly placing the freshly forged hammers onto a rack, he turned his gaze towards her.

It was to see an expression filled with sincerity and a little bit of self-doubt.

"I wouldn't make for a good King," he repeated word for word, yet there was something in his gaze that caused Arturia to think of a deeper meaning. "Because there's something that I cherish above the prosperity of the Kingdom and even the people themselves." _Because I have you._

"A-And that would be?" Arturia asked in a fluster.

In the moonlight, her features shone with an ethereal glow.

From the way loose strands of her hair floated just behind her ears, to the way her mouth hung a little open as she waited for an answer; all fell within his sight along with the reemergence of a woman from his memories.

"Love."

His answer was simple, for it encompassed his everything. No matter his ideals and motivations, it all stemmed from the root of that word.

A Love that transcends time.

From the confused expression on Arturia's face, it was clear that she didn't understand his meaning. Or perhaps the notion of giving up an entire Kingdom for a single person just wasn't fathomable for her mind to come up with.

In any case, it didn't change anything.

Sitting down next to her, he grew lost in his memories as he stared at her face.

It was the same, everything was the same.

From the armour she wore, to the expressions she could make. This was Arturia Pendragon. This was Saber.

Unconsciously, the yearning he felt at that moment manifested in the form of an action.

An arm wrapped around Arturia's shoulder and pulled her close, tucking her head into the crook of his shoulder; the height difference between the two having grown more apparent over the years.

Arturia's eyes widened in surprise, a startled gasp escaping her throat as she could feel the heat rushing to her head from the sudden action. His scent directly entered her nose from the close proximity; the robustness of his body beneath the fabric of his clothes even more apparent as she placed her hands on it in an attempt to break free. Yet, when she was about to do so, she saw the expression on Shirou's face and fell silent, her body relaxing against his, and her arms falling to her sides.

After all, as Shirou stared up at the moon, Arturia could see the melancholy on his face and feel the tenderness in his touch through the fabric of her blue gown.

She had never seen that sort of expression before, and only now that Shirou held her in his arms did it appear.

_Love._

The word which Shirou spoke earlier resounded in her mind, causing her to almost fall into an inexplicable euphoric daze, a blush over her face as she tried to keep it straight.

W-Was it her?

The thought just wouldn't leave her mind. Yet doubts sprung up as well.

The word 'Love' didn't just encompass one's feelings for another, maybe it was an object or place?

_Yet, could it be her?_

That single thought just wouldn't leave, and just thinking about it caused her mind to go into disarray from all the problems that could occur as a result.

But at this moment, within his arms, nothing seemed to matter. Arturia leaned further into his warmth, the two staring silently up at the moon thinking of the future to come.

At the edge of the barrack, Merlin released a sigh seeing the scene of the two. Without doubt, the future he had once glimpsed had already changed.

* * *

In the days that followed, Arturia had suddenly found herself to be selfconscious whenever she was near Shirou, and that didn't change even as they eyed Lord Adinak's castle in the distance.

"How do you plan to do this?" Lord Adinak asked curiously. At his waist, were two war hammers that Shirou had made previously. Lord Adinak was not only impressed with them, the man even decided to treat them as family treasures.

With the magic Shirou had displayed before, Lord Adinak was of the mind that anything that a Wizard makes couldn't be ordinary.

Behind Lord Adinak, were all of his available Knights as well as Arturia's own group.

"I'll open the gates and give a signal for you all to charge in," Shirou said simply.

"This," Bedivere said unsurely. "That doesn't really explain much."

"Trust me," Shirou said. "Just wait for my signal."

Saying that, Shirou dismounted from his horse and made for the castle on foot.

With the attention Lord Adinak and Arturia's group was drawing in the middle of the day, Shirou swiftly made use of it to circle around the castle's back while everyone was distracted.

This castle was not only important for Lord Adinak to obtain the weapon stores within, but it was also strategically required. It was the fortress base that the Angles would have to recapture to gain any more footing in Lord Adinak's land, and similarly it would allow Lord Adinak to launch his own initiative.

Arriving at the castle's back, Shirou quickly made sure that there were no sentries at the top of the wall. Verifying that there was no one there, he let out a sigh of relief.

The back of the castle had a wall that was entirely vertical stone. Therefore, it wasn't a spot for others to invade from as it was impossible to climb; reducing the need for sentries in this particular location.

For him though, it was different.

He traced a pair of blades in which he stabbed evenly into the wall. Thereafter, he traced sword after sword and made a flight of stair up the side of the flat wall.

When he arrived on the top, it was to meet face to face with a bewildered man who had just so happened to be passing by the area.

Staring at each other, it only took a moment before the man opened his mouth in order to sound an alert.

Shirou wouldn't let him.

Even before the man could shout, there was already a blade floating inches away from his face.

The message in Shirou's eyes was clear. Make a sound, and that blade would fall.

The man swallowed, but only watch helplessly as Shirou left. However, the man felt like crying when he realized that the sword in front of him remained firmly in front of him no matter which direction he moved at.

Arriving near the front gates, it was the most heavily defended part of the castle. Archers were stationed near the upper walls, and an entire platoon of Angles laid in preparation over the murder holes in the arched passageways.

Hiding behind a few storage crates, he noted the location of the defending guards and made a decision.

"Trace, on."

* * *

"What signal do you think he meant?" Bedivere asked, only to fall silent when an explosion blasted the very gates from its hinges.


	31. Chapter 31

The Earth itself is nature, the beliefs of man allowing those which should not exist to exist. Or perhaps, it is simply the will of the world, but in any case, 'they' exist. Something that even the most practical of individuals couldn't refute; no matter how much mankind doesn't desire them.

Hidden in the shadows, waiting; adhering to that which drove them into secrecy.

They came from myth and folklore.

Beings of such immense strength that can reduce distant green fields and mankind's bustling utopias into a hell not worth living in.

Yet in the end,

They disappeared.

Driven into isolation by the will of man itself who didn't desire them. For after all, they were existences that shouldn't have existed, but remain because of the workings of the 'World.'

Man detests them.

But the 'World' needs them as its extensions and mediators of nature.

However, there was one Magus Family that focused the entirety of its mysteries towards the pursuit of Phantasmal Species. A concept deriving from the nature of that which is born through thought.

The Ashtons.

Later known as Beast Hunters for the numerous Phantasmal Species they captured for study in the earlier generations. Everything from appearance, defenses, and even attributes were researched extensively, creating a craft that allowed a magus to communicate in the language of Phantasmal Species. After all, none but the most intelligent of Phantasmal species could speak in human tongue, therefore it provided a breakthrough for the Ashton's in their mysteries.

Communication is the key to learning.

And with this specific magic, the Ashtons were able to directly question Phantasmal Species on certain factors in their field that they were uncertain of. Of course, this was only possible with the more reserved Phantasmal Species. The mindless one's though, were hopeless. But in any case, the knowledge they learnt from the mysteries of various Phantasmal Species couldn't be compared with what other Magi were learning in the era.

After all, most other Magi only have a lineage spanning five-hundred or so years, and cannot hope to compete with the mysteries accumulated by Phantasmal Species for _thousands_ of years. Phantasmal Species existed even during the Age of the Gods.

But in any case, it normally would have had been impossible to capture such powerful Phantasmal Species. The reason was simple. How could a magus compare mysteries with a being whose ability is beyond one's comprehension? Those Phantasmal Species that have survived for so long possess even greater means as the power of a Phantasmal Species only increases with time.

This was a fact known clearly to the Ashtons. They could only praise their luck that most Phantasmal Species were intrigued when a Human was able to communicate with them. Just as the stories told of the nature of Phantasmal Species, not all were quick to action.

However, what was even more difficult was _locating_ them.

The age of Phantasmal Species was declining and most were already choosing to leave from the history of mankind. The will of man didn't want them, and as they were beings made from the belief of man. they simply began leaving in accordance to the most secluded of areas.

Most Magi turned a blind eye to this phenomenon as it had long since begun in the past, but the Ashtons refused to do nothing. They were even well acquainted with a few Phantasmal Species and to suddenly see them disappear, it was a blow they refused to accept.

With the Ashton's understanding of Phantasmal Species, they developed the only method they knew to find them.

Hypnosis.

If they left because man didn't want them, then they would be found by a family's single-minded desire to find them. No thoughts of food, love, sleep, or anything substantial. Just a sole thought.

_Where will I find you?_

Even if everyone else wishes them gone, there will always be one family that will _never_ wish so.

_And you are the last surviving member._

_Remember, for time has already run out._

The blue moon,

And the calling from the land of shadows.

_Child, my child, my dearest little boy._

_When the chill of winter crawls, and the clouds herald the coming of the cold, look within yourself. For a hero of old._

A deep sigh, mournful, but full of an unspeakable longing and grievance.

_May the blessing of the stars be with you._

_For I can hold them back no longer._

* * *

He woke with a start, beads of sweat traveling down his brow and pooling beneath his chin before dripping to the floor. Unbeknownst to him, his arms had been outstretched, as if reaching for something just out of his reach.

_W-What just happened?_

Opening and closing his hands, he sat up and observed the minute trembling in them as he shuddered.

Efret tilted its head while staring at him, attempting to determine what it was that was troubling him.

But unfortunately, Efret wouldn't be able to. After all, how could Efret understand something that even he, the afflicted, couldn't?

He shook his head, and then pulled off the worn covers over his body before stepping out of the make-shift bed of straw he was sleeping on in a chamber within the castle just acquired. From the moment the gates opened during yesterday's fight and Arturia and the rest charged in, the outcome of the battle was already sealed. After all, the enemies positioned within the castle were actually quite few as defending generally required less people to defend then to attack. This moto saved in human resources and should have been viable if he hadn't forcible opened the castle gates from the inside.

In any case, the castle was quickly captured, and Lord Adinak swiftly taking control of his lost assets after dealing with the Angles that had surrendered. Lord Adinak took no prisoners, the fates of those Angles something not too difficult to conclude.

In his case, he only clenched his hands and did nothing even if he felt compelled to vouch for the enemy's lives. However, doing so would not earn him any form of admiration. Instead, it could lower the others opinion of Arturia for having a First Knight that cared more for the enemy than the vengeance of those lost.

Therefore, he bore with it, insistent on only one thing. No matter how conflicted he was, he knew already that if he had to choose between giving up his ideals over Arturia, Arturia would always be the most important. For the woman who was able to capture his awe, respect, and heart within only a short time-span of two-weeks; setting him down towards the path to follow in what he believed in regardless of what others thought. All while never giving up searching for her.

Moon light trickled in from the arrow slits within the castle's battlements as he wandered out of bed. The sound of his steps echoed within the narrow passage as everyone else lay sleeping in the other rooms.

He couldn't sleep right now though. It wasn't that he couldn't, but his mind was working too quickly for him to have the time.

Stopping atop the castle's wall, he leaned his elbows over the top of stone defenses, peering up at the sky.

_The blue moon._

Staring transfixed, it was almost as if the moon above was pulling him in. Dull circles of light around the moon seeming to flicker with trails of stardust.

_The calling of the land of shadows?_

Those words seemed to continue reverberating in his mind, causing him to fall into a temporary daze. Efret, perched on his shoulder remained silent, staring out ahead while staring seriously up at the moon.

A silent caw somehow seemed to sound in the stillness of the night.

His gaze shifting from the moon, to the man who he realized was sitting upon a stone near him.

The man had pale white hair and a cloak to match it that shrouded the entirety of his body. Said cloak had decorative patterns of blue, red, and gold lining the ends of the mantle he wore beneath the cloak.

This man was Merlin, and almost as if waiting to have been noticed, Merlin gave a nod in his direction. The black scepter-like staff normally in Merlin's hands was placed by the man's side, and just out of reach.

"Did you know that other than a Wizard, I was known as something else," Merlin said slowly, flattening his back against the wall and shifting his gaze in the distance. "They called me a 'Seer,' 'prophet,' and 'the man who understood all.'"

He waited for Merlin to elaborate, as he had no idea what it was Merlin had in mind.

"But did they not know, I'm not truly human?" Merlin said with a sigh. "I am of mixed-blood, and perhaps it was because of this that I had the ability of divination."

He listened silently once again, already knowing that Merlin's father was not human, but rather an Incubus. At least, he could use this reasoning to explain Merlin's womanizing ways, but he had spent enough time with Merlin to know that it wasn't just because of his heritage. Merlin was truly a womanizer, but he'd never say that to Merlin's face ever again after the way Merlin looked hypocritically at him last time.

He cleared his mind of such thoughts to listen intently to what Merlin had to say. Unconventional as the man was, there was a reason why Merlin was considered a wise man. Besides, when Merlin mentioned Divination, he had already become increasingly alert as well as interested.

"I can no longer see such divinations as the future is filled with endless possibilities, but I can say for certain about a single outcome," Merlin gave pause, his hands falling to rest by his lap. Taking in a breath, Merlin's eyes locked onto his with a certain seriousness Merlin had rarely displayed before.

_"_ _Pray for the blessings of the stars,"_

It was those very same words he had already heard previously tonight. Yet different from when the voice of the woman spoke to him in his dreams, Merlin's tone was hard, leaving him baffled and unable to reply.

Closing his mouth, Merlin's complexion seemed to flush red before the man forcibly rid the colour from his face.

"From the reaction of this blood of mine, you are truly an Ashton," Merlin stated. "That Magus Family of Beast Hunters as known by the other Magi and myself. They were unique, their mysteries even more so, and just how they were able to establish contact with Phantasmal Species, still unknown. However, I can feel it. It's been several years since first we've met, but never has the Incubus blood within me reacted so strongly."

Eyes shifting away from him, Merlin stared up at the night sky.

"The Blue Moon rises, an opening to the Reverse Side of the World."

His heart froze hearing Merlin's mutterings.

The Reverse Side of the World. The plane of existence that retains the laws of the Age of Gods, housing Phantasmal Species instead of people. It was where the majority of Phantasmal Species in his time line disappeared to. However, his knowledge on this subject was never very thorough as he never had to deal with it.

"Even now those on the other side wish to re-enact the Age of the Gods," Merlin didn't appear to be speaking to him any longer. Instead, the man had a pensive expression on his face as he brought a thumb to the bridge of his nose. "Yet the Anchors in the world prevent them from doing so."

He lips thinned listening to Merlin before he too stared off at the moon.

"Yet the Ashtons…" Merlin shook his head as he grew serious; he then turning in his direction. "You must remember soon, for even I do not know the answer."

Saying that, Merlin disappeared, leaving him alone to mull over his thoughts.

He would remain in his position until the crack of dawn where he silently crept back to his straw bed near Arturia's and the rest.

However, he was fated to have no rest.

About an hour into his sleep, he felt a hand shaking him awake.

Blearily opening his eyes, he was met with Arturia's amused face. Dimples were present in her smile, and her gentle expression caused a sense of warmth to flow through him despite the grogginess of suddenly getting woken up.

"You're drooling," she laughed good naturedly, pointing near the edge of his left cheek. By now she'd seemed to have recovered from whatever was plaguing her mind about him in the past day.

He sighed before smiling up at her, wiping away the drool as Arturia extended a hand forward to help him up.

No one else was in the room. Merlin had never slept within, and Kay and Sir Ector were used to getting up early in the morning. After all, Kay was the official Knight who trained Arturia, but Sir Ector was actually the one to always watch out for her. Therefore, it was always the two who got up early since young to decide on the training of the day. Yet in this case, it was more for preparation should the enemy Angles attack. Although, if he were to use the common name for all of Britain's invaders by the inhabitants, they were all actually called Saxons.

In any case, he and Arturia were in the same room with Kay and Sir Ector because everyone within knew of Arturia's real gender. Having her sleep in the presence of others may risk exposing this secret, thus it was best that she slept in such arrangements. He was just a tad guilty for abandoning Bedivere to rest with others his friend wasn't acquainted with. However, sacrifices had to be made, and at least this was one of little concern.

Standing up on his feet, he watched silently as Arturia knotted her hair and willed her magical armour to equip onto her person. The blue and gold tinted robe she wore beneath was soon covered in polished steel.

Finished dressing up, she turned towards him with a pensive expression.

"What do you think we should do?" She ended up asking.

This was her first time leading, and he couldn't fault her for asking for advice. This was even more so when he considered the fact that he had been answering Arturia's questions since a young age. The introduction of spices and herbs, how to cast metal, and even the minor things in life, he had been able to answer them all with his knowledge.

He scratched at the back of his head while looking at how earnest Arturia was.

Honestly speaking, it was probably best to rely on the expertise of Sir Ector and Lord Adinak who were veterans when fighting in a battle field. Yet another part of him didn't want to disappoint her. Therefore, he thought about it, and eventually came to an answer that had some potential. His eyes gazed outside and towards the fast-moving river in the distance once more before he answered

"Let's build a moat," he said.

A moat was generally a large body of water that surrounded a castle in the medieval era to prevent enemies from both digging into the castle and reaching the castle's walls. However, this concept of a moat was first invented in the tenth to the eleventh century, several centuries away from King Arthur's rule in the sixth.

As expected, the expression on Arturia's face was one of confusion.

"What's a moat?" She asked.

"You'll see," he said as he briskly walked out, Arturia following behind him.

By creating the first ever moat around Lord Adinak's castle, it would completely prevent Saxon attacks as the Saxons would probably never have had experienced such a defense before. With the draw bridge raised, it would become almost impossible to reach the castle by normal means. This was good, as it was clearly going to become the base of operations for the counter attack against the Saxons in Lord Adinak's territory.

As he and Arturia were on their way out, they met up with Bedivere who had been waiting just outside of his sleeping chamber within the barracks in the castle.

Bedivere had an accusing expression on his face, and the accusation of 'you left me behind,' was quite clear.

But in any case, he apologized to Bediver before giving a warning to those nearby the castle that the ground may begin shaking and for no one to panic.

His warning only drew a curious brow from others, and even Arturia who began tapping a finger impatiently over her scabbard as she walked.

Other than Arturia and Bedivere, many of the other Knights stationed within the castle began to follow when they realized that he was up to something. Granted, he couldn't fault them as they were still mesmerized with his means in both archery, and how he had infiltrated a fortified castle so quickly.

Magic, was clearly the answer that most Knights in the castle and following Arturia came to. After all, before the Magi issued the orders to maintain secrecy in Mage Craft, it was fairly common for other people to know of it.

Stopping just outside of the castle's walls, he began his assessment.

"What are you going to do?" Arturia asked, voicing the opinions of everyone who'd followed.

And so, he answered simply.

"I'm going to dig a hole," he said, bewildering everyone.

While everyone was in a baffled state, he traced out a mystic code with explosive elements and swung it down to the hard ground in front of him.

Boom!

Gravel and bits of dust exploded in a small shroom of debris.

He coughed into his hand as a cloud of dirt covered him from head to toe. Yet, in front of him was a small crater that had formed as a result of his swing. Looking at it, he estimated how many swings he would have to take to make a moat large and deep enough to prevent others from simply wading through it.

Any thoughts he had about using a Noble Phantasm were completely illogical. They were weapons of massive power not suited for precise explosions to dislodge the ground before him. Instead, he worried that they may have a detrimental effect and completely reduce Lord Adinak's castle into rubble. By then, he would be completely at a loss as to how to explain for himself.

"Here," he said out of the blue as he passed a sword to Arturia. It was the very same explosive mystic code he had just used earlier. "Swing it around the castle walls and dig a ditch that around this deep."

He motioned with his fingers towards one spot of land, all the way to another to convey the distance.

However, Arturia was still in a daze as she stared at the mystic code in her hand. Everyone else he absently gave a copy of the mystic code to were in a similar state.

"D-Does this sword e-explode with every swing?" Bedivere asked in a state of awe.

Before he could even answer that question, one of the knights swung out as a test, staggering backwards from the explosion. Yet, there was a certain wonder in the Knights eyes as the Knight remembered what was instructed and enthusiastically began swinging at the ground around the castle walls.

Everyone else was silently staring at this Knight before Bedivere expression turned euphoric.

"M-Magic Sword!" Bedivere proclaimed, joining along with the Knight that was already hacking at the ground.

Many of the other Knights soon followed, eager to test the mystic codes in their hands.

Arturia though remained behind. Amidst the sounds of the explosions, she stared at him as he began walking towards the river in the distance.

Suppressing the curiosity of swinging around an exploding sword, she followed after.

"We already have enough water in the castle. Kay and Sir Ector already lead a group of Knights to obtain sever buckets worth," she explained as the two arrived beside the river.

"It's not going to be for drinking," he explained.

Using the explosive mystic code in his hands, he began carving a path from the river towards where the other Knights were in the process of making a giant gorge.

Arturia's eyes widened as she witnessed this and connected what it was that he was trying to do.

"A castle on a lake," she murmured in awe thinking about what the end result would look like. Her expression grew even more solemn when she realized that she couldn't think up of a means to easily breach such a defense. What was the use of battering rams and siege towers if one couldn't even reach the castle walls?

The innovation was not lost on her, and she stared at him as if she was looking at her greatest treasure.

And indeed, she was thinking along a similar line. It was her fortune to have him as her Knight. Her luck that brought him to her. And the trust between them that caused a rift to form over her emotions when she was with him.

Kay, and Sir Ector had spoken of love. The town girls had also spoken of love. But even now, she didn't know what it meant.

Was it the yearning she felt as she watched Shirou doing his all for her? Or was it the rapid beating of her heart whenever he was near?

A tender smile was working it way onto her face as she lost herself in thought.

Before she even knew it, she was by his side, helping him bridge the path for the water to flow from the river towards the moat the other Knights were almost finished building.

Sweat began to glisten on her brow because of the effort, and it didn't help that the sun was bearing down from the sky while she was in her armour. In any case, she didn't complain because as the King, she had to set forth an example.

The invigoration she felt when the water from the river began filling up the crater the other Knights created around the castle walls was hard to describe. The general appearance of the castle now truly made it appear to be a castle atop the water.

There was a hint of amusement in her eyes when she noticed Kay and another group of Knights who had remained within the castle gawking from atop the battlements. She couldn't help waving at him.

"I-Inconceivable," one of Lord Adinak's Knights said in awe. "Such a defense seems nigh impenetrable!"

The moral of the Knights increased to the point of cheers. No matter what, this castle would be safe from Saxon invasion. And from the food they'd stored inside the castle now, they wouldn't have to worry about remaining within for several weeks.

"Hail the King!"

The Knights cheered. For the action of building the moat was undertaken by her first Knight, and by extension, herself.

"Thank you," she whispered into Shirou's ear.

She didn't know if he understood what that thank you meant to her, but it conveyed everything that she wanted to say. There were too many expectations placed on her shoulders from the start, and she had no merits to prove herself. Therefore, even as she led her Knights, she felt a tad inadequate and slightly pressured to do something deserving of her title. And Shirou's actions were helping her do that, so she tried to convey this feeling the best way that she could.

And this stumped Shirou.

Because staring at Arturia's face, his emotions began to go haywire.

He wanted so desperately to hold her close, yet knew that he couldn't at the same time.

Therefore, he could only settle on patting Arturia's shoulder.

"No problem," he said softly. "Do with me as you will." _I am yours._

There was a certain strength in his grip when he said this, and Arturia felt it, a shiver crawling down her back that caused goosebumps to appear on her arms when she stared at him. Rather than himself turning away to prevent her from seeing the emotion in his eyes, it was her who turned first.

Her appearance seemed demure, her shoulders no longer squared but hunched together, and head bowed low, face shadowed by her bangs.

The sight wasn't lost on the others in the area, but many attributed the action to the same elation they were currently feeling staring at the newly formed moat.

"Let's go," she whispered after composing herself. Yet, it was clear for him to see that the flush on her cheeks hadn't fully subsided. It was an appearance reminiscent of the days he spent with her in childhood when she felt embarrassed.

And it was this light expression on her face that he wished to protect. For a world where she could smile like so everyday rather than one filled with regrets and mistakes.

That was something he would die for without a second thought.

Following Arturia, he first entered the castle before her. As the moat consisted of water surrounding the entirety of the castle, they now needed a bridge to get across. Yet for him, all he did to reach the castle's entrance was to leap forward. Once on the other side, he took down the wooden gates of the castle and fastened them together with steel and other wood he had found in the area to make a bridge that spanned the entirety of the moat.

Arturia and the other Knights were then able to return to the castle. Oddly enough, despite how enthusiastic the Knights were upon getting to use a magical sword, their discipline didn't allow them to take it without his permission. As he had neglected this, the following night led to his room to be filled with around twenty copies of the explosive mystic code. In which case, he only sighed before dismissing them, unable to recall the specific Knights who had used them.

By the third day, Lord Adinak with the help of Sir Ector managed to fully complete all loose ends within the castle. Not only was Lord Adinak thrilled with the added moat, but the man had been quite proactive with it too; attempting to find a way to repay him at any cost.

But in any case, by the fourth day, it was time to discuss a plan of attack.

He found himself within the main strategizing room, an area within the castle with an open window and a round desk that Lord Adinak placed a map over.

Looking at this desk, and the way Arturia was staring at it, it became clear to him where the concept of using a round table appeared in Arturia's mind. For even as King, everyone still had the same level of seating.

The idea of a round table only became more fixed in her mind when Shirou was designated to sit directly next to her as her First Knight.

But on to other matters, Lord Adinak cleared his throat before speaking.

"I propose an attack here, and here," the man said while pointing to different markers on the map. "These two areas are the Saxons strongest fortified locations in my territory."

Sir Ector raised a hand to interrupt Lord Adinak.

"Doing so isn't very advisable," Sir Ector said. "By the time we gather our forces and mount an attack, the smaller Saxon encampments nearby would have had noticed that there was something wrong in this castle we had just captured a couple days back. Even now it's already been several days with no contact. Even if they don't know that we've occupied the castle, our enemies aren't stupid enough not to grow suspicious. By now, they must have sent messenger to inform those two places you've spoken of Lord Adinak. Therefore, they will be expecting us."

Lord Adinak fell into silent thought. With the words Sir Ector had just spoken, it was clear that they would be losing their advantage of surprise. Yet either way, it was impossible to keep up the pretenses anyway therefore he voiced his opinion. "It's impossible for them not to notice, therefore it's better to attack preemptively than to allow them more time to fortify themselves."

Lord Adinak turned to Arturia, the one who drew forth the Sword from the Stone and the true King of Britain.

"Your thoughts?" Lord Adinak asked.

Merlin, Sir Ector, Kay, and everyone else turned to face Arturia.

Arturia had to be given credit, she appeared calm when faced with such attention, but inside was a different story. She wasn't sure of what path to take.

"Uhm," she opened her mouth, then closed it, before furrowing her brows.

She agreed with what Lord Adinak had said, wanting to rush into battle to drive off the Saxons to stop them from causing any more deaths. However, Sir Ector had a point with his reasoning. Should the enemy be prepared for them, then the number of casualties in her hands would only increase. Above all, she didn't want that.

"I," she hesitated, and at that moment, she felt a hand place itself gently on her leg.

She looked up to see Shirou nodding towards her, giving her a sense of security.

Merlin who saw this interaction because of the angle of his position felt like ripping his hair out when he realized this move in Shirou's part had nothing untoward about it. However, how could he, as a womanizer, accept the fact that some other man who wasn't even an incubus could act so naturally against the opposite sex? He was growing increasingly irritated, especially remembering the time when Shirou attempted to reprimand him about the very topic of womanizing; saying that he'd only end up trapping himself in a world in which he would never be able to get out of. The nerve of this boy Merlin took as a student.

In any case, Merlin had to admit that Shirou's presence by Arturia seemed to have a calming effect on her.

"We attack," Arturia said decisively.

When the King speaks, no one speaks against it.

Sir Ector nodded, and Kay only grinned. Lord Adinak just sighed in relief.

"Then we best prepare now. The faster we strike, the better our odds," Arturia said mulling over what Sir Ector had advised.

Lord Adinak approved before frowning.

"With the number of Knights we have on hand, it'll take about another day to prepare, and several more to reach our destination. On top of that, we still have to decide about who amongst the Knights will stay to guard the castle," Lord Adinak advised.

"Time is still the issue," Arturia muttered with a complicated expression.

A fierce wind blew in at that moment, causing the curtains that hung from the walls to flutter as Efret appeared outside the large window of the room.

"Don't worry," Shirou said, standing up from his seat.

Walking towards the window, the others watched silently as Efret's size expanded, none but Lord Adinak gawking at the sight.

Thereafter, Shirou jumped onto Efret's back, a black bow appearing in his hands that caused Lord Adinak's mouth to dry remembering what Shirou could do with it.

"Then I will buy you that time,"

His voice drifted in the wind as he and Efret faded into the distance, Arturia's gaze never leaving until they were nothing but specs in the clouds.

* * *

In the lands of Lord Adinak, numerous Saxon encampments from Mercia were set up to maintain a steady control of the region before settlers could be brought to repopulate the land.

Therefore, these encampments were of vital importance as Mercia, out of all the Saxon settlements, was the fastest growing. Its borders were already in the very center of the island and expanding out in all directions. Wessex, its nearest competitor was already spreading its influence to the southern most part of the island.

In any case, Mercia's rapid expansion meant more death for the natives along with the emergence of more encampments. It was in such an encampment that was currently in a perpetual state of havoc.

"I-Its back!" A Saxon yelled in trepidation. "Take cover!"

A shadow cast itself upon the ground, the image of a Grim Reaper in the eyes of the Saxon's below.

From its mouth breathed a flame, a torrent of searing hell fire that reduced the encampment into burning cinders, ashes floating in the wind.

Groaning, Saxon after Saxon climbed their way out from the rubble. They had nothing left to hide behind now, their bodies marred grey from the cinders.

"Aart! Aart, damn it you can't have died!" A Saxon was wailing out at the top of his lungs while staring at a brother pinned beneath a pile of burning wood.

This shouting would be the end of him.

Like hawks diving from the sky, masses of sleek twisted steel rained, seared red from the friction in the air.

It was less than a second.

Almost instantaneous.

The Saxon who had just shouted coughed out blood, a twisted sword pierced through his chest that rooted him standing where he was even as he reached a hand out for help.

Yet it was already too late. The man died just like that.

The others were pale faced and were on the verge of breaking down. They would have had fought back, rushed madly if only just to land a 'good one' onto the enemy's face, but it was impossible.

The sound of bows firing travelled through the air, the Saxons that survived shooting up at the monstrosity before their eyes.

A flaming bird the likes of which none had ever seen.

And riding on top of it, legs spread shoulder width apart, and black bow drawn, was a hunter in leathers. The cold bronze eyes staring down from above were really too striking amidst the fiery flames of the mount. It was almost other worldly, something not meant to be possible except within fairytales.

Grown and hardened men trembled under that gaze.

It was almost as if no matter where one ran, so long as that gaze could see you, then you were as good as dead.

_For the Rider of Flames cometh with a thunder, mighty bow in hand to smite the enemies before him._

The notoriety of this Rider of Flames was only growing, becoming a story of nightmares the Saxons would use on their children, but the person himself was unaware.

"Efret," Shirou called from the skies.

Efret merely grunted before twisting away from the approaching arrows. Thereafter, Efret ascended towards the clouds, outside of the Saxon's range.

"Let's go," he then said swiftly

Flapping its wings, Efret flew off across the sky, leaving the Saxons in a state of confusion but alive. Yet it was this mercy that was allowing such absurd rumours as the Rider of Flames to proliferate within Saxon ranks.

After all, he didn't kill every Saxon he encountered. Rather, he burned the encampments to the ground and eliminated the designated leaders of each encampment. Thereby cutting the head from the body, the rest unable to function cohesively. And this was enough for him.

This encampment wasn't the first that he had run into. In fact, he had been raiding all the locations specified in the map Lord Adinak had laid down previously over the round table. Starting from the furthermost stronghold, he began working his way down every key point, and striking erratically.

The enemy wouldn't be able to differentiate which encampment would be attacked next, and a sense of growing fear would have the added effect of stalling their movements. This fear would not only stall their movements, but it had the added effect of petrifying the other encampments and bases he hadn't even been to.

Even if the planned attack on the two strongholds Lord Adinak specified were to delay by another six days, nothing would change. After all, to fortify those two bases, more than likely, the commanders would call in men from the other encampments in the area. Yet, no Saxon would dare venture off from the cover of their encampments.

Stories of the Rider of Flames had already grown out of proportion due to hysteria in the surrounding encampments. To be caught in an open plain was just suicide. Many of the Saxons were now unable to stop themselves from swallowing in fear whenever a bird's shadow appeared in the horizon.

Even if he discovered what his actions were doing to the Saxons, he wouldn't do anything about it as it was to Arturia's benefit.

Circling in the sky, he and Efret raided no more than seven other encampments before circling back to Lord Adinak's castle. There, he discovered that Arturia and the rest had long mobilized and were on the march to the necessary strong holds.

From the sky, he could see the trail of dust left behind from the galloping horses in the distance, and at its front was Arturia. Donned with her helmet and flowing blue mantle, she with the rest of the armoured Knights revealed an imposing image.

The sounding of the horns, and the raising of the Coat of Arms.

A symbol of the charge.

In history, it was King Arthur that brought back the effectiveness use of mounted cavalry. And looking at the majesty she was displaying while on the move, it wasn't hard to understand why. In the first place, fully armoured Knights were hard enough to deal with, but an armoured horse on top of that? It would be a nightmare for the average foot soldier.

Gliding in the sky, Efret released a caw as it flew beside the galloping mounts.

Arturia's gaze turned to the side, and she gave him a nod.

He returned the gesture, conveying the completion of his task.

Thereafter, he patted gently on Efret's back, and the two sped forward to scout ahead.

Taking to the skies outside of view, he would be her eyes and ears to prevent danger from coming to the army of Knights. Furthermore, Arturia was severely lacking in ranged infantry at the moment, therefore that job fell onto him to fill.

It was why he was primarily using his bow as Arturia, Sir Ector, and Kay were enough for front-line fighters.

Spying ahead, he became stupefied with what he saw.

He had only begun attacking encampments in the past several days as Arturia used the time to prepare. However, even he was rendered speechless; unable to foresee the extent of the results he had obtained after attacking multiple Saxon encampments. Said encampments had all sent for aid, something the strongholds Arturia was targeting couldn't sit idly by and do nothing.

Therefore, said bases sent out their men to find out what was going on.

This leading to the current situation where an army of Saxons was marching in the middle of an open plains by a forest's clearing. Judging by their expressions, they had no idea that Arturia was coming with her mounted cavalry.

Expression growing calm, he and Efret circled around to convey the information they'd just obtained.

* * *

Algar Baecc was the commander of the army of Saxon's deployed to investigate the sudden influx of panic that had befallen the nearby encampments by the stronghold.

He wasn't as foolish as to believe the horse-shit the men around him were spewing about a Rider of Flames. In fact, he was more inclined to behead such men for spreading undue apprehension, causing a plummet in morale.

But he couldn't do so. After all, an army wouldn't be an army with only a hundred men. Too many have had already fallen into a state of apprehension. To discipline them meant the loss of the entire army aside from the hundred men he knew most loyal to him.

Shaking his head, Algar couldn't get rid of the growing suspicion in his heart. It was only a couple hours ago when he vaguely saw it. Flying high within the clouds, a figure of a man on a large bird.

He spat on the ground in displeasure when he considered that even _he_ was beginning to get affected by the nonsense his men were spouting. To begin with, that image was something he spotted off the edge of his vision, and could have had been nothing more than a regular bird.

However, his honed senses were still warning him of something.

"Hold," he shouted.

Every Saxon in the area stopped at his command.

"We'll set up a camp here and move out tomorrow morning," Algar decided.

The open plains surrounded by forest that they were in right now was an ideal resting location. Should any animals come to attack, they would see them from miles away. Of course, this was the same for any enemy, and this helped to assuage the suspicion in Algar's heart.

Listening to the chatter of his men as they began setting up camp, Algar only grew more irritated. All talk only seemed to revolve around a single topic of the Rider of Flames.

"Enough with you all!" Algar fumed. "We're grown men, not children afraid of fairy tales, and _you_ ,"

Algar glared at a particular man.

"'God of the sky' your head!" Algar punched the man in the face, causing spittle to rain over the gawking masses. "There is no God that our weapons cannot cause to bleed. Swords and arrows are our greatest allies, and you fear a man who hides away from danger atop a bird?! Is this not the work of Loki messing with your heads?"

The Saxon army looked down dejectedly at Algar's scolding. The majority of Anglo-Saxons were pagans, worshipping Gods that controlled a particular part of everyday life: the family, growing crops, love, healing, wisdom, metalworking, the weather, war, day and night, and so on. Loki was just a more famous Pagan God, and his was the domain of trickery and cunning.

"Look at you all," Algar spoke in a pressing tone. "Where are the hot-blooded men who charged with me to kill hordes of enemies in tribute to Tiw, Woden, and Balder? Where have they gone?"

None spoke in that moment; the many who were afraid of rumours feeling regretful as they stared into the eyes of their fellow brothers.

"Speak not of this any further," Algar said. "Hurry and set up camp before day light ends."

The Saxons nodded one by one, the area in silence as they all began working meticulously.

Algar released a sigh as a close aide offered him a beast-skin sack of water made from animal's stomach good for storing such liquids. He drank gratefully. Wiping the excess moisture away from his lips, a sinking feeling took root within him when he felt a vibration in the ground. It had only been for an instant, and it wasn't very noticeable, but with his senses warning him of danger, he reacted immediately.

"Quickly, give me that!" Algar said hastily, grabbing back the offered sack of water from the aide.

Furiously digging a small crater into the ground with his axe-hammer, Algar emptied the water into the crater. It wouldn't take long before the water would fully seep into the soil, but that wasn't Algar's main concern. Rather, it was the unmistakable sight of the water's surface rippling.

Something large was approaching. Something big.

"Men!" Algar called out, but even before then, his eyes spotted the flag in the distance.

And that was no Saxon flag.

"Enemy attack!" He called out.

It was too sudden, and no one was in any form of readiness as they stared blankly at the cavalry that appeared in the distance.

"Shit," Algar cursed. "Defensive formation!" He called out.

Even as stupefied as the Saxon's were at the moment, their experience still forced them to do the basic movements. However.

"Spears damn it, why aren't the spearmen in front?!" Algar yelled.

Almost the only group of men that could withstand a cavalry charge were spearmen who could kill the horse before the rider even got close.

Algar's shouting, despite being the correct instructions, only made the confusion worse as the spearmen pushed past the others in the formation.

It was almost a complete mess, but the training of each individual finally allowed everything to be in place.

The spearmen at the front readied their spears, pointing them forward just below their waist line to impede the cavalry's charge.

Yet all hell broke loose at the next moment.

A flaming bird appeared in the horizon atop the clouds, a bowman atop its back.

Algar and every Saxon man, froze at that moment. After all, it was like seeing the monster beneath one's bed. Always told that it wasn't real, only for it to show up in your face with all its imposing glory.

The Rider of Flames.

He who was the destroyer of the Saxon encampments in the area appeared.

And with it the thunder of a noise that would forever haunt the Saxons present.

It was the sound of buzzing as an innumerable number of twisted swords shattered the line of spearmen at the front.

Even then, amidst the rain of arrows from the Saxons fired at the Rider of Flames in retaliation, the flaming bird dived low and doused the archers in a torrential blaze.

Algar stared at all of this numbly even as the cavalry was fast approaching.

What was he supposed to do?

He had _never_ met with such a situation before, and admittedly, terror was beginning to well up from within him. They were being suppressed from both the sky and the ground, and even with all his years of experience, he could come up with nothing to turn this around.

It made no sense!

Algar clenched his fists. Just where did the enemy obtain such forces and power? Lord Adinak and his Knights were already on the brink of defeat, so how?!

It was a question that was driving Algar mad, yet it was answered in the next moment.

_The return of the King._

An appearance whose disposition spoke of regality. The thick blues, and hues of red and gold, that billowed upon a mantle in the wind causing no room for doubts.

Uther, wise King of Britain had fallen long ago, a successor unchosen, the throne left vacant.

Merlin the Wizard, and the original advisors and Knights to the King, long missing.

But no longer.

For one with the disposition of a King was leading the charging cavalry.

Only a King could command such a force.

Only a King could command that rider in the sky.

And this _King_ was undoubtedly right before him.

Algar no longer hesitated. Even if this was just a speculation, it deserved to be reported as something much more.

"Retreat!" He ordered. No matter what, so long as one man from his army could survive, word would spread to the King of Mercia, and with the King's divine power, there must be a way to overcome this trial.

The resulting confrontation was messy at best.

The vanguard stood no chance to the King's charge, and the cavalry pierced a line straight through them. Those who had been at the rear were quick to disperse under his instruction, but even then, that damnable Rider in the sky was sending out a hail of arrows. It was to the point that the fear he had developed towards this Rider of Flames was driving him to hysteria. Even if he feared the King charging with cavalry in hand, he was more terrified of the unknown. And a man riding a top a flaming bird was more than enough to petrify him.

Even still, his legs carried him forward. For the sake of the forming country his people were building.

"Head for the trees!" He shouted. Once there, at least the heavy foliage would cover them from the sight of the Archer above. Thereby, increasing the odds of more people getting away.

Almost as if the charging King could read his mind, the King's cavalry split off into smaller groups to pursue.

"This bastard," Algar cursed under his breath, but there was nothing he could do.

These smaller groups of cavalries rounded up those who were trying to escape and trapped them into the plains. Algar was no exception, however, he was more determined.

When he reached the edge of the forest, and a cavalry Knight pinned his arm down by a spear, he gritted his teeth before sacrificing his arm to get away.

The following Knight was stunned by the action, and by the time the Knight composed himself, Arturia had already issued the order to gather.

* * *

From the skies, Shirou and Efret descended, Shirou jumping off Efret's back when the ground was close enough.

Upon his arrival, the expressions on everyone's faces were reverent in regards to King Arthur's First Knight. Not only did he take out the spearmen that could completely hinder a cavalry's charge, but he took out the bowmen as well. And this fact was also attributed to Efret who many of the Knights present were now offering their thanks and food.

Efret had shrunk down to a smaller form, and as such, was enjoying the attention. Well to be honest, it probably had more to do with the food.

"Good work," Arturia greeted him with an elated tone.

Her mannerism was no different from a man's by this point. Therefore, he could at least understand why others like Bedivere hadn't connected any dots for her true gender.

"A couple got away," he reminded her.

"No matter," Kay spoke. "We are on horseback while they are on their feet. We can catch up if we just follow the signs the enemy leaves behind."

Arturia approved of Kay's reasoning. At the moment though, it was important that she feed the flames of morale that were currently swelling high within her men.

"Victory!" She screamed.

The other Knights beside her began cheering in unison.

Lord Adinak was the most fervent. It had been years since the last time he had tasted such a victory that he was already harboring thoughts of chasing the enemy. It was simply too refreshing now that he was no longer on the defensive.

But at that moment, Merlin's eyes narrowed.

The famed Wizard had been near the back of the group, but Shirou had always made sure to take Merlin's reactions seriously. And Shirou had noticed Merlin's eyes narrow.

Thinking about it, there weren't very many things that could cause such a reaction from Merlin, and the most recent had been the night atop Lord Adinak's castle walls.

The blue moon.

And a passage to the Reverse Side of the World.

Arturia and everyone present stiffened.

A chittering noise that buzzed perpetually in their ears.

"W-What is that?"

The question was on everyone's minds.

Despite the noise and chaos of the battlefield after victory, this distinct sound somehow continued to echo within the air.

The high pitch of it was causing a sense of trepidation Lord Adinak and his men had never faced before. This was the same for Sir Ector and the rest. That feeling of bugs crawling over one's skin; this was what they were all feeling as the noise grew louder.

Only Merlin seemed to have any idea of what was going on, but by the frown on Merlin's face, it was far from good.

As for himself, even he didn't know what was going on.

One moment everyone was celebrating a hard-earned victory, and in the next, the area was plunged into a tense silence. Only their breathing could be heard over the overbearing chittering noise.

Scree

_Scree._

The sound was reminiscent of rats hissing at each other with their yellowed teeth. Biting and snapping, the soft din of teeth gnashing together.

Everyone was darting their heads back and forth by this point, looking for the source. Any pleasant thoughts these men once had about their recent victory swiftly fled from their minds. All that mattered was ascertaining what sort of danger the sudden noise may bring.

It was in that moment that Arturia's face seemed to pale almost instantly; her fearless appearance on the battlefield shattering away as her expression grew increasingly frightened. She couldn't help it. Even grown up as she was now, there was still an illogical fear for things she had once considered child-hood nightmares.

The contours of her mouth opened and closed stiffly as she tried to force herself to speak.

"K-K-Kay!?" She stuttered out while looking towards Kay who stood beside her with a face that spoke of betrayal.

Kay was confused, but that changed the moment his and everyone else's gazes shifted to where Arturia had once been looking.

"No fucking way," Kay said in disbelief.

From the forest adjacent to the open plains a hundred feet away from them, one tiny critter appeared after another; peaking their head through the underbrush before stepping out into the light.

Teeth as sharp as daggers.

Skin, a sickly green.

And beady black eyes that were narrowed into slits.

Leathers covered their bodies from head to toe, tough and scraggily long hairs growing from their chests and arms.

"Y-You said they weren't real," Arturia whispered.

Arturia's voice was a tad pitched as she tried and failed to calm her nerves while talking to Kay. Efret was one thing to Arturia as Merlin explained that it was a sort of magus's Familiar, but what she saw in front of her now couldn't possibly be a Familiar.

Well, she was right at least.

Lips thinning into a thin line, he didn't know when Efret suddenly appeared beside him; feathers alight with a fierce flame as it cawed in warning.

Just as described in legends and folklore,

There right before him,

Was an entire group of Goblins that only seemed to continue growing.

In the next moment, all of their eyes shifted towards them.

More specifically,

Him.


	32. Chapter 32

It was a pin-drop sort of silence. One sported by the sound of one's throat swallowing nervously.

"W-What in God's name?" Lord Adinak stuttered, his mount neighing as it protested staying in the area for even a moment longer.

The other horses were reacting in the same way. After all, animals were generally known to have a keener sense of danger than humans. Bugs and rodents for example may migrate away from the origin of a natural disaster before said natural disaster could even strike. This intuition was the same for the horses now staring forward at that group of goblins appearing at the forest's clearing.

They weren't natural entities, but rather, things that shouldn't exist in the human realm. This was clearly something the Wizard Merlin knew for fact. As the goblins were a local resident of the Reverse Side of The World. Although not lacking in number, their intelligence was questionable at most times, and Merlin hardly found himself interacting with them. Yet, in this sort of situation, he really had to.

Shifting his gaze towards Shirou, Merlin stared hard at him with narrowed eyes. Of the people present, the only one to notice such a discreet action was Arturia herself who's grip tightened around her reins.

It wasn't a coincidence that these goblins would appear here in such a time. Nor was it something unexpected for Merlin either. Just, he hadn't expected such a reaction to occur so soon.

"We're going to have to have a talk later, lad," Merlin said to Shirou. "But I'm afraid this situation is more pressing. But don't fret. We are dealing with idiots."

Saying that Merlin conjured a ball of magic at the tip of his staff which he then fired forward. The ball of magic released an eye-catching light that many of the goblin were drawn too. Hovering just in front of them, the goblins grew curious as they surrounded the thing in confusion.

Subsequently, the entire thing erupted in flames that engulfed all around it.

Arturia and the others seemed to sigh in relief seeing the relative ease that Merlin was dealing with the problem. Despite their nervousness, their tension was slowly fading. That was, until they noticed Merlin's expression droop.

"Well, doesn't that make things more difficult," Merlin muttered.

Staring back at the army of goblins and the other balls of magic light Merlin sent forward, it was clear that none of the goblins stepped forward towards the light. Yet, from the gleam in their eyes, it was evident that many goblins still wanted to inspect it despite seeing what had occurred to their brethren. However, that impulse was seemingly being subdued by something. Instead, the goblins backed away from Merlin's attack by a radius of ten meters.

It was then that a larger and more astute looking goblin stepped out from the forest. His skin was a deathly pale rather than the sick green of those around him. Scars ran down his face, crossing a line from his left eye to his right cheek. Unlike the other goblins who were barely even dressed in leather, this one goblin had a set of armour on the likes of which couldn't have had been forged by man.

Pieces of metal were riveted in place and seemingly bolted entirely onto the goblin's skin. The armour's shoulders were equipped with black thorn like spikes that jutted out from the sides, and even the leggings were of similar design.

Yet what caused the most apprehension was the belt around the goblin's waist. It was an average belt made of stretched and dried leather, but attached to it, was a row of human skulls. Some of which still had bits and pieces of rotting flesh.

"A Hobgoblin," Merlin muttered derisively.

Hobgoblins were on an entirely different class from the regular goblins. Not only were they larger, but unlike regular goblins, they were intelligent. And because of this one fact, they had a natural disposition to command the respect of the fools around them in much the same way a teacher handled children.

Those balls of light Merlin had sent forward, were now being avoided like the plague.

Merlin grunted before flicking his hand forward, manually setting of his magic.

Seven grand explosions ripped across the battlefield. Even from where everyone was standing they could feel the pressure exuding from that one action. Lord Adinak and his men who had never seen Merlin in action were left gob smacked. If before they thought Shirou was godly atop Efret's back shooting down foe after foe, then now they were floored seeing Merlin's actions.

"With a flick, the ladies swoon with my actions. And with the simple motion of my hands, an entire army of fools falls into disarray," Merlin said boastfully.

Yet none of the those around him rose in response to his words. Many were still recovering from the shock of what just occurred. Only Arturia, the lone woman in this army of men, glared hard at her teacher.

What 'ladies swoon with my actions?' Arturia's lip twitched. The last time she saw Merlin talk with a lady, he ended up slapped in the face when another love interest showed up at the same time.

What a load of hogwash.

In fact, something about Merlin's face right now made Arturia want to punch him. And as a matter of fact, her expression was enough to convey her sentiments towards Merlin who sobered up while looking a bit depressed.

This, this was favoritism! Merlin cursed internally before glaring at Shirou.

_When Shirou went out on Efret's back shooting magic arrows down onto the enemies, you didn't level a single nasty expression in his direction. And now when I perform an act befitting of a man such as myself you scowl at me?!_

Merlin felt truly wronged at that moment as he still felt Arturia's piercing eyes on him. It wasn't fair. All along as he traveled silently with Arturia and the rest, he hadn't had the chance to reveal his skills as Shirou acted too fast for him to even need to do anything. Moreover, he was already growing tired of hearing the incessant amount of praise coming from Lord Adinak and the other Knights towards Shirou. Calling Shirou the stuff of legends when a _real_ legend was but a scant few meters away? Preposterous.

It wasn't that Merlin had grown discontent that no one was talking about him anymore that he had acted first before Shirou. In fact, even his action of stepping in front of Shirou wasn't to obscure his vision, but rather the duty of a teacher to keep his student safe.

"M-Merlin the Wizard?" One of Lord Adinak's men rasped out in astonishment. "We've been travelling with Merlin the Wizard?!"

A yes, sing praise, and put more effort into it.

The increasing glow on Merlin's face was evident to Arturia who knew the man very well, and that need to punch him in the face was only growing stronger.

"Merlin," Sir Ector coughed into his hand.

"Ah? Oh yes," Merlin then cleared his own throat while suddenly giving off the vibe of some otherworldly being as he surveyed what remained of the goblins.

This sudden change in bearing only made Lord Adinak and the other knights look at Merlin more profoundly. Yet Arturia only snorted in contempt.

As the smoke from Merlin's magic lifted, what was left was a smoldering field of burning wood and drifting ash. Strewn across the ground were numerous goblins, some injured while the majority were not.

Even if goblins were some of the lesser known phantasmal species in the Reverse Side of the World, it was a given that their natural constitution would still be higher than that of a human's. For example, the attack Merlin had just used should have reduced a man to coal, the explosion itself enough to separate one's limbs from the body. However, the only damage evident on the goblins were a few minor injuries and burnt leathers with a pungent smell.

Merlin's expression stiffened as he felt the gazes on his back.

"I do not specialize in this sort of magic," Merlin said calmly, feeling slightly aggrieved.

The attack he had used just now should have had defeated regular goblins. He'd tested such a thing already in the Reverse Side of the World, yet for some reason the one's in front of him seemed more durable.

No matter, he'd just have to fire more.

Magic gathered at the tip of his staff. The energy of the world, prana, shifting to usable od.

Merlin was known as the Wizard of Flowers, specializing primarily in the magecraft of plants. As the magic energy coalesced upon the staff's tip, green vines began to swirl up the staff's length as the greenery nearby underwent a sudden growth.

In the process of that moment, it seemed as if the world itself was changing.

"The flowers, they're blooming," Lord Adinak said silently.

"Impossible," another knight said. "It's already drawing towards the days of cold. No such flowers bloom at this time."

All eyes were turned on Merlin at the moment, watching as a wave of green travelled across the fields like a wave. Wherever it went, flowers and vines grew out to make an image no different from the dazzling scenery told of in myth. A land untouched by man. A world of nature.

The Hobgoblin's expression fell seeing the attack coming in his direction.

Immediately, he issued the orders to retreat, but there was a reason why the Wizard of flowers was so feared.

_What is there to do?_

_What is there to think?_

_Where are you to run?_

_When the world itself was your enemy?_

He was the world, the plants and life around him, an extension of his power. The staff was pointed forward, a radiance emitting from it that travelled the entirety of the distance in an instant.

The grass came alive, lush strands and leaves growing like long wheat stalks on a summer's day. Those goblins injured over the ground seemed to get swallowed by the tall grass until there was nothing left to be seen. Only the sound of shifting soil could be heard along with the nervous gulps of those behind Merlin.

It was too surreal. Starring at the grass beneath their own feet, Lord Adinak didn't even know the first thing he would do if he was caught in such a magic. Hell, he never wanted to when he saw what remained of the goblins smothered within the grass. There was simply nothing left. As if they had never been there. If not for the purplish liquid over the grass's stalk, then none would have been the wiser to step in to such a death trap.

With the hobgoblins orders, the entire army of goblins began dispersing back into the forest.

The smile on Merlin's face was anything but kind at the moment. As a resident who could cross to and fro from the Human World to the Reverse Side of the World, he knew the rules of the Reverse Side of the World like the back of his own hand. Those who shouldn't be in the human world, should not be in the human world. That time has long since passed, no matter what fools wish to prolong it.

Even as the goblins ran into the protection of the trees, they were none the wiser of the true extent of Merlin's power.

He was something like nature itself.

To fight him where there was growth was only inviting one's demise.

The trees came alive. Large roots shooting up from massive trunks that completely tangled every goblin that ran by. If one tree wasn't enough, then maybe two? Three? An entire forest perhaps? There was simply nowhere to run.

Like snakes coiling around their prey, those roots trapped every goblin inside. The hobgoblin was no exception and he was the one who struggled the most. Using the serrated short sword in his hand, the hobgoblin was able to hack away at a majority of the roots bind him. But at that time, more and more roots, both large small splintered off from the larger roots and became vines that wrapped the hobgoblin completely in a cocoon.

Muffled sounds could be heard sounding throughout the forest. It was the same chittering noise that everyone had heard previously. Although this time the sound was tinged with panic, the pitch high enough to pierce one's ear drums.

By this point, everyone was numb. And that included Shirou who watched silently. If even he, a magus, was like that, then there was no need to even describe how the others felt.

As the chittering noise began to dye down, squeals of pain could be heard as the goblins were dragged down by the roots deep into the soil. Other less fortunate goblins who only had a leg or two bound by roots suffered far greater than those completely wrapped. After all, when the roots began to sink while pulling the goblins down, the soil itself was not anything like sand, rather, it was more akin to rock. And the process involved in the sinking was much like pushing a block of cheese through a tiny hole. The goblins couldn't possibly fit their entire bodies into the small circular area created by the tree roots.

Many began to pale as they imagined the scene that lay ahead, but Merlin was tactful. A deluge of falling leaves blocked all from sight until once again, nothing remained in the area.

Arturia swallowed. She had never thought magic could be this powerful. It was true that Merlin had taught her about it, and even shown her a few things or two, but all of that paled in comparison to what she had just seen. It was simply too powerful. She herself didn't know if she would be able to escape such a thing let alone fight back.

Shirou on his part was considering things more seriously. In the era he was in, there was no such civilization away from nature. And in war, plants were everywhere. He could understand completely just why Merlin could combat an entire army by himself. The army of goblins was proof enough. So long as one fought Merlin, they would have to be wary of the trees around them. The bushes, the shrubs, even the ground one stood had to be paid with close attention.

In the medival era, Merlin truly felt unrivaled. For the grass flowed everywhere, and the woods ran thick.

Merlin was a Wizard that could represent the world. One famous enough to have his name known thousands of years later, yet unfortunately never became a heroic spirit.

Shioru pursed his lips. If Merlin didn't get trapped in the Reverse Side of the World, then who was to say that Camelot would have had ever fallen with him by Arturia's side.

It was simply a tragedy. While the future Arturia was out suppressing the final dredges of the Saxon invaders, the Kingdom fell into revolt. And by the time Arturia returned, it was only to see all that she'd worked for in ruins. How could a girl who had abandoned everything that she was and could be for her people and country not buckle in the despair of what had become of them; the Kingdom she vowed to lead being nothing more than rubble? A witch waiting in the shadows for the prime opportunity. Yet even then, there would no longer even be a kingdom to rule.

Shirou's expression was a mixture of indignance and incredulousness as he glanced in Merlin's direction. The man was currently basking in the glory, the expression of Lord Adinak and his men still staring blankly. To think that such a man would meet his end for his cowardice to meet with a certain love affair, choosing instead to hide in the Reverse Side of the World.

Even the little bit of knowledge he tried to impart to Merlin about the eventual error of his ways was somehow taken as a declaration of sorts by the man. Merlin was truly too stubborn, but there was no doubt that he was capable.

With the sudden silence that befell the area, a certain somberness took root as Lord Adinak marched his men forward. However, neither Merlin nor Shirou followed. Instead, Merlin motioned for Shirou to follow him elsewhere as they slowly lagged behind.

Perhaps the one who noticed this the most was Arturia who pursed her lips as she forced herself to maintain her position near the front of the group. As the next King, she had to maintain a certain bearing at all times. This was one such case as she and Lord Adinak were continuing the initial plans to conquer the Saxon base now weakened from losing a majority of its men.

It wasn't till she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder that she noticed Kay pulling beside her on his mount.

"If you want to go, you shouldn't hold yourself back," he spoke.

These were the words of her brother and the very Knight Arturia had once been apprenticed to in her youth.

Seeing Kay's expression, Arturia grew even more conflicted as she looked back towards Shirou and Merlin's fading silhouettes as they moved to some place hidden in the woods.

"I can't," she said dismayed. "How can the leader just leave whenever he wishes?"

Kay shook his head. "You are the King," Kay smiled lightly, leaning in over his horse to whisper into Arturia's ears. "Sometimes it okay to be selfish. Name one King that wasn't selfish at least once at one point in their life."

Arturia was silent, mulling over what Kay just said.

"Besides, you aren't the King yet until we can host a proper ceremony." Kay shrugged his shoulders as he readjusted his position atop his horse. "Besides, aren't I, your brother here?" Kay laughed uproariously. "What is there to worry about, just delegate the duty to me. You yourself knows that a King can't be everywhere at once. Now go, before you lose sight of him. You wouldn't want Merlin's personality to rub off on your first knight, now would you?"

Arturia's face twitched as a vein formed over her forehead. "That bastard better not," she spoke subconsciously.

There was a venomness in her tone that shocked even Kay. Yet in the next moment, amusement appeared in Kay's eyes.

"Well, it would be a welcome change actually," Kay began speaking nonchalantly. "No matter where I took him in Roan, he didn't strike a fancy with any woman."

" _What_ did you say? You took him where?" Arturia didn't notice it, but Llamrei was glaring hard at Kay. After all, Arturia's entire body was tensing, and she was pulling harder on harder on Llamrei's reins. Based on Arturia's dragon strength alone, it was far from a comfortable feeling Llamrei was feeling.

Kay took delight in Llamrei's misery. Ignoring the magical horse, Kay shut his mouth for the moment, watching the storm brewing over Arturia's head.

"Its only natural," Kay insisted righteously. "There are times in a man's life where he was to go meet with various ladies of different sorts. The thing is, Shirou was just too stubborn to even think of such matters."

"Oh?" Arturia said, visibly growing relieved.

"But that was a couple months ago, and you know as well as I do how Merlin is. I wouldn't be surprised when the next time I take Shirou to visit certain places that he would hit it off pretty well. You should've seen how much attention he attracted last time. Especially because of how adored he was in Roan. Young ladies practically threw themselves over him. I was quite envious to be frank."

Arturia's expression darkened once again, this time, involuntarily pulling hard on the reins and eliciting a neigh of surprise from Llamrei. Even Lord Adinak turned his attention back to look at the commotion. However, by then, Arturia composed herself, though the cold gleam in her eyes was unmistakable. Even the way she was no longer looking forward was evident. Instead, her gaze was focusing on both Merlin and Shirou getting further and further away.

"Keep talking," she said flatly. "Besides, if Merlin could really affect him, then why hasn't he changed after being taught by Merlin for so long?" She reasoned.

"Naïve," Kay said knowingly. "Think clearly, has Shirou ever been alone with Merlin while training with him?"

It was like an arrow suddenly pierced Arturia's chest.

No, Shirou did not spend too much time alone with Merlin. They had always undergone lessons together, and even if she had to practice alone, she would often be doing it off to the side of where Merlin taught Shirou. Therefore, she was always somewhat nearby.

Then what would happen now if she were to leave them alone?

"You know, it's going to be quite amusing if Shirou's personality ever twisted to the same likeness as Merlin and his expertise in womanizing. Well, you can think of it this way. At least you can have a diplomat to woo any of the other noble's daughters to solidify your base of power."

Kay was already beginning to snicker seeing the steel like expression on Arturia's face. Her lips were a thin line, her eyes staring straight ahead, and not even a muscle could be seen moving on her face.

"He's my teacher, Merlin wouldn't do anything like that," Arturia's tone was flat, bordering on monotone. "He should know better."

"And yet you know him better than I," Kay said calmly. "What do you think is going to happen if you leave them alone?"

Arturia halted Llamrei in its tracks, and for a moment, there was a murderous air around her that quickly vanished. "I trust Merlin." She said resolutely.

Kay rose a brow. "Then what's that over there?" Kay pointed towards Merlin and Shirou and as if by sheer coincidence, Merlin was currently talking to a woman and her younger sister belonging to a wandering caravan.

It was common to see such a sight of people moving along the roads in groups. After all, it was practical to prevent bandits from thinking of attacking, and people just generally felt safer in a group. Encountering such groups was commonplace, but to run into one on their way to the Saxon stronghold, it was truly unfortunate for Merlin. Especially so when he pulled Shirou next to him to talk to the older woman's younger sister. What made things worse, was seeing just how accustomed Shirou was to dealing with woman, the younger sister seemingly fidgeting under his gaze.

Kay seemed to hear a cracking sound like shattering glass stemming from Arturia's direction before he felt a wave of killing intent that startled everyone including him. This killing intent only felt worse when Kay looked at Arturia and saw that she was still wearing the same expression as before except-

When had she drawn out her sword?

"If you'll excuse me," Arturia said before nodding deeply at Kay before riding off.

Kay reciprocated the gesture, knowing full well that Arturia was allowing him to take charge of the offense against the Saxon stronghold. It was a form of delegation, and something a King had the power to do so most of the other Knights following didn't mind it as much. Although they did feel a tad put out by it. Still, it wasn't worth complaining over now that merits were right in sight. And the capture of a Saxon stronghold was truly something that could be considered a great merit.

Just thinking about the goblins from earlier still sent shivers down everyone's backs, but they had already put it in the back of their minds. Unwilling to get involved in something so dangerous.

Taking up the handle of his reins, Kay kicked his horse into a steady gallop, remaining sielnt as Sir Ector rode near him.

"Kay, you?" Sir Ector asked inquisitively before sighing.

Kay looked off into the distance and at the scene of Arturia suddenly slamming into Merlin, sending the man flying with a stunned expression on his face. Despite the violence of the act, Merlin wasn't really injured, and the smile on Arturia's face was all Kay needed for justification.

"It's not really fair is it father?" Kay said solemnly, a rare seriousness on his face.

He and Sir Ector had their horses galloping near the front of the moving group so their discussion couldn't be heard unless one strained their ears. In which case, Kay was still careful with his wordings.

Slowing down the pace of their horses, the two stilled to a gentle trot.

"She's working so hard for acknowledgment that the expressions she once made in Roan are beginning to fade. Everywhere she goes she's under the scrutiny of hundreds of men and retainers, not once able to relax unless taken away by sleep." Kay furrowed his brows.

Only the sound of the horse's hooves on the gravel road could be heard between the two at the moment, Sir Ector having nothing to say. After all, he had noticed exactly what Kay was talking about.

"Aye, that be true," Sir Ector gaze became a tad downcast. "Yet this is the path she chose to follow."

"If it means losing who she is to become something that others make of her, then is that really a King I want to look up to? Shirou he's a good kid, isn't he?" Kay spoke form the heart. "He makes her happy. I've seen it, and you have as well. The old wizard probably knows the best of all, assuming his reputation as a seer is believable."

Sir Ector thought back to what Kay was referring to. In her moments of indecision, Shirou was there. When she was in trouble, or even had the smallest of emergencies, he was there as well. In fact, thinking about everything now, he had always been there for her. Sir Ector could recall Shirou's time spent in Bristol. He made her food. He trained with her. Taught her. _Bled_ for her. And in turn, she had grown to return such actions, yet could never voice a desire that she clearly had, doomed to bury it forever within her.

Sir Ector's hands balled into fists before he unclasped them.

"Nothing is truly fair in life," Sir Ector eventually said. "The fall of Uther was the same."

Sir Ector's placed a hand over the bridge of his nose as he steadied himself atop his horse. "Nevertheless, in this time of crisis, the Lords and the People need a King to rally under. The symbol of our sovereign who will deliver us to a path of victory."

Kay snorted derisively, the vexation he was feeling not something that could be easily described. "Who says we need a King? Can a Queen not lead her people just as well?"

Kay leveled a glance at Sir Ector, the motion revealing his earnesty.

"Father, I grew up with her. And even though she may have been a brat at times, picking fights with pigs, and even ordering that shitty horse to hang me up over by a leg, I know for a fact that she doesn't deserve this. If she was exactly how she was before she met Shirou, then perhaps I could accept what she wants to do for our country and people, but now," Kay trailed off before he gritted his teeth. "How do you think she's going to feel when she's invited to the marriage of Shirou and some other woman?"

Even if Kay was already feeling outraged and despondent with the situation, Sir Ector was even more so having raised Arturia when she was still just a baby. Yet still, Sir Ector remained silent.

Kay brooded by himself for a moment, a small smile rising and appearing on his lips as he turned his attention to Arturia who was now vehemently berating Merlin who looked as if he had been wronged.

"Britain doesn't need a King. All it needs is a worthy ruler to guide its people. A King and a Queen are no different, at least to me."

Kay quieted down, not speaking for a while.

"Is that why you manipulated Arturia using her own feeling to chase after them?" Sir Ector asked slowly.

A tremble travelled down Kay's back, but the look on Kay's face was resolute.

"Because my sister deserves happiness too. And even if its fleeting, what else can you expect a brother to do?" Kay replied.

Sir Ector closed his mouth, unable to say anything. He didn't know when, but the son he raised had finally grown up. A certain proudness a father could only ever feel was evident on Sir Ector's face.

A boy had turned into a man.

_My son, the light of my eyes._

_And my daughter, the hope of my life._

Sir Ector closed his eyes after glancing once more at Arturia. Sighing, he felt a certain type of content that he didn't think that he would ever feel again.

_My dear King Uther, your knight no longer has any regrets._

* * *

By the time Arturia was done with Merlin, Shirou actually felt bad for the man. No matter what his performance was like against the goblins several hours ago, it would mean nothing as Merlin was helpless against Arturia.

Nursing the bruise that was slowly forming atop his head, Merlin truly felt aggrieved. He had done nothing wrong, merely stopped to chat with an older lady and her younger sister from a travelling caravan before discussing certain matters with Shirou.

In the end, he was rammed by a horse, then dragged away by Arturia into the forest where no one could see them. In the forest, no one can hear you scream. Or at least that was how most natives thought. Because even if they did hear a scream, why would they go out of their way to help a stranger and potentially bring disaster upon themselves?

This was especially true to the woman Merlin was just talking to whose face was paling by the second.

It would only be later that Merlin would be able to cut himself some slack.

The current situation was just too unfair. By the time Merlin and Arturia returned, the lady Merlin had once been talking to had long since disappeared with her sister along with the caravans.

"I've been wronged. Someone has besmirched my good name," Merlin complained under Arturia's glare. "Who was it, tell me so this great Wizard can get to the bottom of this! I swear to you that none will be able to escape when I'm this serious. When I'm serious I even scare myself!"

Arturia would have no more of Merlin's nonsense and decided to stand next to Shirou's side, her arms crossed with an unpleasant look on her face.

"Haven't you laid there long enough teacher?" She called out to Merlin.

"Not even giving a helping hand, oh my dear students are already discarding me. I have no choice but to abandon myself to a life of a wanderer. To be truly free and-"

"Merlin, what's gong on?" Arturia cut in.

Merlin deflated, sighing as he picked up his staff and looked intently at Arturia. The solemnness in his eyes completely erased whatever image Arturia had of Merlin mere moments ago. This was the true appearance of the one called the Greatest Wizard in the era.

"This matter is not something the future King of the country should be getting involved in. Is it not your duty to be unifying the lands at this moment?" Merlin shrugged. "I suppose it doesn't really matter if I just inform you of what's going on. This actually has more to do with Shirou there."

Hearing his name spoken, Shirou paid very close attention. Phantasmal Species were never supposed to have had appeared in this timeline, and even if there were, there should not have had been that number of goblins present. It was simply too much.

"There is a plane of existence called the Reverse Side of the World. It is where supernatural beings have retreated to after the Age of Gods ended, but more than that, it is where those who wish to return to the Present World are waiting. Many of whom wish to bring an end to the world of Man to re-enact the Age of the Gods. The both of you have all heard of legendary beasts? Perhaps not all, but there are many of such fearsome creatures on the other side. A greedy dragon that wishes to horde all of the world's riches, a wolf who wants to bring about Armageddon, and an entity whose sole purpose is to destroy, many such things can be found. I have personally seen them for I can travel between worlds. And I can say this, should any one of those fearsome beasts descend, then the consequences are going to be far more than just the ruin of this Kingdom. It would begin a mass extinction the likes of which had never before been seen. There will not be a single man left alive."

There was no lies or fluctuation in Merlin's voice as he spoke, not even caring that he had just so nonchalantly explained a means for the destruction of the human race.

"And Shirou has to do with this why?" Arturia inquired, expression growing dim. Her brows were furrowed, and her concern was hard to conceal despite her efforts of hiding it.

Merlin frowned, but eventually the expression passed. "He is an Ashton, and that name carries a certain weight to it for those living in the Reverse Side of the World. After all, at the Reverse Sid of the World, there are no humans, no will of mankind that worked to push out phantasmal species. But there was such a time where a human, a family lineage of them were able to step through. The Ashtons. And even till this day I do not how. The answer is therefore hidden in the ancestry. Shirou's ancestry."

Shirou pursued his lips, but eventually opened his mouth to speak. "That should be impossible," he said with certainty. "I'm not an Ashton." He said.

The admission was met with silence, and only Arturia reacted. Her expression showed her shock and disbelief. She had always believed that he was an Ashton, and now Shirou himself admitted that he wasn't.

Something flickered in Merlin's gaze, but his next words left Shirou floored. "Out of the question," he said. "If you are truly not an Ashton why was it that those goblins directed their attention towards you alone. They are calling back that which was established since your birth. The pact made with the Beasts of the Blood Packs. They wouldn't mistake a target."

"That's," Shirou had no words to reply. The goblins indeed locked onto his person when they had first appeared. In fact, it was probably because of him that they surrounded the area with Arturia and the rest.

"Can you guarantee for sure that you are not an Ashton?" Merlin inquired further.

"…" Shirou fell silent.

He himself knew that he couldn't guarantee it. After all, even as he was now, he had never known just who he was before the Fuyuki Fire occurred. Therefore, there was no certainty no matter how much he may think otherwise.

"During the Ashton assassination, you should have been no more than a child. Can you remember anything substantial?" Merlin asked.

Again, Shirou had no answer. He couldn't even remember any sort of memories he may have had then. "I don't remember. No, it's not that I can't remember, it's just that I don't have any memory of it at all," Shirou said.

Merlin's brows furrowed hearing that answer before the man brought a hand to rest beneath his chin.

"This makes things far more difficult," Merlin muttered. Still, there was an odd light in his eyes. "There are only a couple doors able to allow one into the Reverse Side of the World, but those doors are heavily guarded by things called 'Anchors.' These Anchors fasten the planet together to ensure that the world of humans on the outermost layer of the world can't be destroyed by those on the Reverse Side. Because so many residents of the Reverse Side were able to get through, then there must be a weakening in one of these Anchors. And the Ashtons are the main culprits. How else can one enter the Reverse Side without somehow tampering with one of these Anchor points? This should normally be impossible, but regardless of how they were able to do it, it only means a path has been created for those on Reverse Side to follow. The fact that only now they are appearing in the present world dictates that whatever safety mechanics the Ashtons had devised are running towards their end."

Merlin leveled a stare at Shirou.

Shirou stared straight back.

"And you, Shirou my student, must find a way to mend this before it's too late," Merlin said. "I can't be of too much help in this matter as I am merely an observer. And even then, should I help, it may draw the attention of some of the less savory bunch within the Reverse Side."

"So, the hate doesn't just stem from this side of the world," Arturia muttered. "You made someone mad at you at the other side too?"

"Ahem," Merlin moved the subject away. "Regardless, only an Ashton should be able to discover what it is that needs to be done."

Shirou fell into contemplation. What Merlin said had to be taken into contemplation, and he himself knew he had been putting of this matter for too long already. If what Merlin said was indeed true, then he would have to stop this. Such a matter didn't occur in Arturia's original timeline, but admittedly this situation might actually have to do with him. Therefore, he would take responsibility so that no harm could come to Arturia.

"I understand," he said. "I will leave tomorrow then."

Merlin nodded his head. "The best place to probably search for clues is the Ashton manor itself. It may have had been abandoned, but there will always be traces of magic left behind in a magus's workshop. Still, you should prepare yourself beforehand."

Saying that, Merlin watched as Shirou nodded in understanding. He gave a bow to Arturia, and then took his leave. Mounting on the horse provided for him, Shirou rode off with his back straight, determination in his eyes.

Meanwhile, Arturia, the one who had only been listening in, was the one most distressed of all.

From the point when Merlin said that Shirou would have to solve this, she was already growing nervous. The fact that Merlin said he wasn't going to be of much help to Shirou only made things worse.

Thinking about it. Everything that Merlin was speaking of was relating towards those monster's Kay had once told her of as a kid. The ones that hide beneath her bed, and the ones as large as houses.

If Shirou was going to face such creatures, then what were his chances of winning? Thinking back to the beast in her childhood, her body involuntarily shivered from the trauma of back then. He had been so still on her back, blood dripping ceaselessly as she cried while carrying him back to her home. Even then, he still didn't wake up, and all she could do then was blame herself.

She was King now. She had drawn the Sword in the Stone. Yet why did she feel so empty despite finally starting the road to a prosperous future for her own people?

_Arturia._

She could still recall the way he had called her name on numerous occasions. The care, the concern, and the unceasing drive to provide all that he could for her.

And then she watched that lonesome back fading away in the distance.

_It wasn't fair._

The voice in her head was screaming injustice.

_For what did you truly become King for?_

_I am your knight._

Sentence after sentence hammered at her in a never-ending barrage that wilted away her conviction.

Before she even knew it, she was breathing heavily, a thin sheen of sweat over her brow as the dark clouds above transitioned to a dark evening sky.

Releasing the breath, she had been holding, she then felt lost. Not knowing what it was that she should do. Drawing forth Caliburn had required her full conviction, and it was a steel that was unbending. She would fight off the Saxons and bring peace to the Kingdom. Yet, through it all, she always envisioned Shirou by her side.

She bit her lip, thoughts in a jumble.

"The Duty of a King is not just towards one's people," Merlin spoke.

The Wizard himself had not moved a single inch from when Shirou had left. Instead, he had remained, watching as Arturia debated with herself.

"At this moment, you are not fit to be King."

Merlin's words were like thunder in Arturia's ears.

"You do not know the path you wish to take. No, more accurately, you can't choose. That which your heart desires, or that which the people need for their salvation, both are equally heavy choices," Merlin swirled his staff and mots of glowing dust burst into the air like a cloud.

This glowing dust had a pale white colour to it, and its thickness was thinning as it spun in the air and lit the area up. The intensity was like that of a gentle campfire that illuminated both Arturia and Merlin's faces.

"For what purpose do you take up that sword? It is a question that you yourself will have to find out the answer to. No one will be able to help you, not even my guidance will. For in the end, no goal can be achieved without a hundred percent surety of success. And that surety is what is known as self-confidence."

"Young Arturia, I have taught you all that I know of mage craft to prepare yourself for unexpected situations. Even then I have taught you a thing or two about the sword, but in no way, have I taught you what should be considered right and wrong. No matter what, it was you who I foresaw leading the future of this land. But as of now, you yourself must experience events and opportunities that will help you find what it is that you are looking for."

"But I can't, there's no such time for me to do such things," Arturia reasoned. She had many things to do now that she had drawn forth Caliburn.

Merlin shook his head.

"The Teacher can help carry the burdens of the student," Saying so, Merlin lifted a finger and created an Arturia-sized doll out of wood and vines. "Once covered in armour, no one would be able to tell the difference. And besides, it's a simple thing to alter one's voice. Leave the unification of the land to mine and Kay's hands. We will deal with the Saxons in your absence so rest easy."

Arturia soon remained silent to listen. This was the custom when her teacher Merlin was actually teaching her. She was the very image of a student waiting to be taught with utmost diligence.

"Let me say this again. Until you find your true purpose, you are not fit to be King," Merlin said.

With a tap of his staff, the light coming from the dust shone with a dull yellow glow before the entire cloud coalesced around Arturia. A surprised gasp came from her mouth as the light began to spin wildly around her, leaving only her face visible from the swirling storm.

Merlin sighed, but in the next moment released a wry smile. The boy truly did work fast.

"Therefore, I suppose it would be best if you went on a training journey before taking the crown, don't you think?"

* * *

By the time morning came in the next day, there was already word of the victory led by Kay and Lord Adinak to take over the Saxon stronghold.

It was a moral blow to other Saxons in the area, but it was information those remaining in Lord Adinak's territory needed to uplift their spirits. And through it all, praise for the new King was being sung by both the people and travelling bards.

Shirou for his part though was busy doing other things.

He finished securing the last of what he'd need before departing. He was travelling light, so the most he was bringing were rations to eat. And besides, if he truly grew hungry, hunting wasn't out of the question. Rather, it was the most practical.

Efret cawed as he neared the flaming bird, and it was clear that Efret was excited to be returning back to the Ashton manor in Bristol. In regards to returning, he was a bit apprehensive about what he'd find, but he knew that it was something he had to do.

There was always something about the place that drew him there. Perhaps it wasn't even a coincidence when he had stumbled into it in the first place. Regardless, he had finished resting and only had to say his goodbyes before leaving.

He had already done so for Sir Ector, Kay, Bedivere, and some of the other Knights he was acquainted with, yet oddly, Merlin and Arturia were nowhere to be found.

No matter how much he tried, he just couldn't find them. The two didn't even appear to congratulate Kay for his role in capturing the Saxon stronghold. In fact, it felt as if they were avoiding everyone for some reason or another.

Unable to find them, he was resigned to leaving without bidding them goodbye. Well at least he was with them the previous day, so that could count as something.

Slinging his belongings to a strap over his chest and waist, he began his way to board onto Efret's back when his ears perked up from a sudden noise.

It was a clicking sound he had not heard since the twentieth century. The clacking sound of heels.

Head turning behind him, his soul seemed to leave his body as he couldn't believe what was he was seeing directly in front of him.

This, was this really Arturia?

Never before had he ever glimpsed such a form in Arturia's memories, yet now it was clearly right before him.

His mouth was suddenly dry; him not realizing that it was actually half open, but that didn't matter.

Arturia's cheeks were flared red as she had never worn such an outfit before. This was also the first time Shirou would be seeing her wear such a thing. Yet for some reason, seeing the expression on Shirou's face, a feeling of butterflies in her stomach caused a warmth to spread across her body.

She was in a sleek pale white one-piece dress adorned with an armoured waist the shape of a flower's petals. White stockings ran up her legs stopping just as it reached the middle of her thighs, the dress falling over it.

A black ribbon at the back of her head tied her hair into a long pony tail that fell like a river down her back.

Both of her shoulders were exposed, revealing smooth unblemished skin that was slowly reddening the longer Shirou found himself looking.

Perhaps self-conscious of his gaze, Arturia pulled in her shoulders while clasping her hands in front of her. "I-It wasn't my idea," she immediately said. "It was Merlin's."

_Merlin, NICE!_

Shirou shook his head from the sudden exclamation and composed himself, or at least tried to. She, she was just too beautiful. And when contrasted to the upright Saber he knew, it only made this new sight something that he wanted to burn directly into his mind. Yet just form the design alone…

"I thought you were trying to hide your gender?"

Arturia blushed feeling too self-conscious. "I said the same thing to Merlin, but he insisted that no one would be able to relate the King who drew forth Caliburn to what I'm wearing now."

Merlin definitely had a point, Shirou had to concede.

"Maybe I should ask Kay's opinion," Arturia murmured.

Shirou shook his head. "No, you don't have to. It's beautiful on you."

Arturia looked away, caught speechless as Shirou smiled in her direction. At this point, she still didn't know if what she was doing was right, but what her heart was telling her to do could not be any clearer at this moment.

"I'm coming with you," she said without room for debate.

Shirou was tongue tied. Generally, he would have had a quick response to counter as he would never bring her into danger willingly. Yet at this point, he was too shocked after seeing what Arturia was wearing to even formulate a response.

By the time he composed himself, Arturia was already making herself comfortable on Efret's back and motioning for him to hurry up; a glow on her that Shirou had not seen since the carefree days of her childhood.

Yet he didn't move for a long while

Dazed as he was with her radiance and the smile that bloomed across her face that resembled that of the most charming of Lilies.


	33. Chapter 33

If there was a reason for the silence atop Efret's back, then it had to do with him and not Arturia. It wasn't that he didn't want to dispel the silence, but it was just that he couldn't formulate any words. Instead, his gaze just wasn't leaving Arturia's form. Her attire was so surreal that he still couldn't believe it at first. However, the feeling of Arturia's back pressing against his chest as they rode on Efret was unmistakable. It was soft and had the fragrance of fresh flowers.

Despite Efret's size, there wasn't actually much room atop its back. After all, neither he nor Arturia wanted to trouble Efret by moving too close to one of its flapping wings and unbalancing it. Therefore, the two sat squarely at the center of Efret's back, Arturia in front and Shirou behind her.

Furthermore, not only was Shirou troubled about the silence, but he was also troubled about whether or not he should wrap his arms around Arturia to make sure she doesn't fall of Efret's back because of the high-altitude winds. Unlike himself who could reinforce his body to secure it safely on Efret's feathers, Arturia didn't have such a luxury; if the white knuckled grip she had was any indication of her plight.

Thinking it over one last time, he decided to put away his reservation in exchange for Arturia to experience a more comfortable flight.

Justifying his actions with that one thought, he wrapped his arms around her. Unexpectedly, she jolted from the action, her face flushing red despite him not being able to see it. Just from his close proximity to her, he felt it when a slight shudder ran across her body. Similarly, he felt it when she began to relax. The grip she had on Efret slackened until she moved her hands over his which were wrapped around her back and clasped over her stomach.

"Thank you," she said in a small voice; the tone of which was lacking the general sharpness she normally annunciated around others. Therefore, the femininity in it was unmistakable even as she tipped her head down in embarrassment. Clearly, she was being self-conscious on the fact that he had picked up on her troubles.

The urge to pull her in close nearly overwhelmed him at that point, yet he reeled himself in and put the calmest expression he could muster over his face.

Instead of answering to Arturia's thanks, he nodded instead. Although, he only realized afterwards that Arturia wouldn't have had been able to see him nod with their positions. Therefore, he opened his mouth to answer.

"No problem," he said, steeling his voice to make sure to not give anything away.

Yet at that moment when he opened his mouth, was the same moment his concerns spilled out of it.

"You, are you sure you should have come?" He asked.

The dangers lying ahead were far greater than anything he should have had faced before as phantasmal species were known to be difficult to deal with even for magi. Then again, actually encountering one in the modern age was a miracle enough.

Almost by instinct, he could tell that Arturia's mood had soured to the point that a rebuttal was at her mouth; the flushing of her face from embarrassment shifting more towards an anger that stemmed from emotions that she herself didn't know how to control. No matter how hard she tried to mask them away, it was all futile when they hindered her from thinking straight. It was something he himself knew all too well.

He tightened his grip around her and cut her off before she could even speak.

"Why?" Was all he asked.

He knew this sort of question would be hard for her to answer, but he himself wanted to know just how far he had gone into Arturia's life. Was he just someone she considered family or friend? Or was it something more? To even become angry just because he insinuated that it would be better for him to go by himself, what did all that mean? But more importantly, would she be able to admit to anything?

This alone was the vital step that would determine the path he would take alongside her. If she, by her own initiative were to express her desires, then there was no doubt that he would reciprocate the feeling. It didn't matter to him if others found out that she was a woman as a result. Despite what others may think, a Queen could lead just as well as a King. Moreover, a kingdom doesn't run on its monarchy alone, but by the people who support the monarchy. And the support she already had was more than enough. In fact, it would only continue to grow as others get drawn to her charisma like moths to a flame. Yet getting her to abandon the path she believed was right would be difficult even for him.

This was clear from Arturia's sudden stillness.

It was almost as if the indignation she had been feeling prior was doused by a bucket of cold water. Her mouth moved, but no words came out. Instead, her grip that she had over his hands were gradually turning warm as her blood pumped furiously within her body.

"…" She shifted her gaze downward, a conflicted expression rising over her face.

He sighed absently when he noticed her action, but he didn't press her for an answer, rather, he just waited silently as she sorted out her thoughts.

This was the other option. Her remaining steadfast and continuing that same lonely Kingship Saber had once endured. Yet even so, this time he would be there. And so long as he was there, he vowed that should a day come where she fell into despair, it would be a day in which he was no longer living.

"It's fine," he spoke softly.

He tightened his grip around her and pulled her closer, the action causing Arturia to startle a bit, and even resist to a point, but he didn't let up. _Even if you don't say it, I understand._

The words that she wanted to say, and the words that he wanted to hear, it didn't matter.

He nuzzled his chin by the nape of her neck and leaned his head down over her shoulder while watching the way her ears were beginning to brighten. He knew that she wasn't unaware about the thoughts of women. He had even seen her once eavesdropping on a group of women who were talking about their various experiences.

Yet not once did she ever participate in such talks despite how clear it was that she herself had things that she wanted to say and ask.

Living her life as a boy, he could understand why such things normally seen as common practice to women would be so hard for her to imitate.

Therefore, she need not talk.

The expression in her eyes and the shifting of her body were more than enough indications.

Her head soon leaned against his, any signs of struggling seeming to leave her as she relaxed; her gaze drooped to stare at his hands which securely held onto her. It was as if no matter what she did or who she'd become, those hands would always be there to support her.

Even as Arturia began to relax, he never slackened the grip he had around her, pulling her towards him as close as possible; the feeling of holding her in such a way something that he had missed dearly yet not hindering him from addressing his main concern.

Because this was what she needed. If she herself couldn't act upon her desires, than he would do so in her place, and he was fine with that; until such a time where he was no longer able to, or she herself could voice out what she wanted.

Until then, he was content to just hold her in his arms, unaffected by the half-hearted protests that filtered into his ears.

Instead, his gaze focused on the land around him.

Flying in the air, everything in the ground looked substantially smaller. Cottages and homes from the towns below nothing more than tiny brown specs in the distance propped atop endless green rolling hills. It almost made one forget.

_The return of the phantasmal species._

_The campaign to push back Saxon control._

With the swaying of the grass and greens below, it made everything seem tranquil despite the growing tension in the world.

Unknowingly, Arturia had long ago stopped with her half-hearted protests and felt a feeling that she had never felt before.

It, it was like a fairytale. The Knight and the Princess soaring above the clouds while travelling towards a grand adventure. It gave her stomach butterflies just thinking about, but she maintained her expression of calm while considering what answer Merlin said that she had to find on this journey.

_What do you think a King is, Arturia?_

_Is it not the one who leads their people to prosperity at the cost of their own happiness?_

_Or is it he who understands one's self enough to know what should be done?_

There is no right or wrong answer, she remembered Merlin concluding, but only a single phrase stuck into her mind.

_Male or female, the people will not care so long as one acts the role of a King._

She pursed her lips, brows furrowing in thought. All her life, she was raised as a boy to one day become King. It would give her the influence that she needed to lead her people against the Saxon invaders. This was the power of a Monarch. Yet each Monarch and King she had ever heard of from Sir Ector was always male. This fact was what made it difficult for her to decide on a path to take.

Yet, if Shirou were to hear her thoughts, he would look at her strangely. No matter what, if influence was her only current basis to reign as a King instead of a Queen, then he would need to toss her back into cleaning pig sties to reflect. So what if she would have less influence as a Queen, not only could she earn it with her efforts, but _he_ was there as well. At the moment, his own reputation would help increase Arturia's influence as this was already the case with Lord Adinak. The man was already proclaiming Arturia as King despite not having any official ceremonies yet.

But unfortunately, Arturia wasn't yet confident enough to speak of such things. She hadn't even been able to bring herself to answer Shirou's question of why she had come. Not only was the reason selfish, but she didn't think it would fit with Shirou's impression of her. Therefore, she was unable to speak.

As Shirou shifted his posture while scanning the surroundings, his arms only seemed to hold her even more securely. Yet it wasn't uncomfortable, rather, it was gentle. Like how Sir Ector had once carried her in his arms in her childhood when she exhausted herself training. And just like back then, she felt the care directed towards her and didn't know how to react to it. Yet even if she didn't understand such things, her own body did. The tenseness of her muscles, the confusion in her eyes, it all seemed to melt away as she leaned her back onto Shirou's chest.

Even as the wind picked up with Efret's descent, she didn't feel uncomfortable in the least, rather, she barely even noticed Efret's actions.

Yet Shirou did, and that was because he had spotted the familiar area around him.

It had been years, but he could still recognize the land where he had first met Arturia again. And almost by instinct, his eyes drifted towards a certain wheat field in the distance.

_"_ _State your name."_

The childish tone of her voice back then brought a smile to his face, more so when all the other memories began slowly filtering back. The hunting, the food, the excuses, and the image of a face still stained with smears of grease from eating too fast. Something he had not brought up in a long time as Arturia considered it a rather dark memory of before she perfected refined speed eating.

As he was reminiscing, he did not forget to keep a careful eye on the path ahead, and indeed, it allowed him to observe some abnormalities.

"Barricades?" Arturia voiced before him.

His eyes narrowed. An entire wall that surrounded Bristol's perimeter was directly before his gaze.

The wall was tall, roughly three meters in length and fortified to allow individuals to climb atop makeshift stairs and defend at a higher ground. The closer Efret got, the clearer his and Arturia's view became. Signs of splintering were evident on the wooden walls, but even more telling was the dried blood splattered across the grained surface. It was everywhere. Kind of like a man dumping buckets of paint over a wall.

His expression fell almost as fast as Arturia who forced herself out of his grip and jumped off of Efret's back.

As Efret was at a lower altitude, she only dropped around fifteen meters before touching the ground, but even then, two large fissures formed from where she planted her feet. She didn't even flinch from such a fall, her dragon's constitution granting her increased durability, and this wasn't even counting her magic control.

Unexpectedly, the sound of her descent was met with alarm from the other side.

The sound of a tolling bell echoed from within Bristol as Shirou spotted a platoon of knights and peasants alike running towards where Arturia had landed.

"Oh God, a-another attack!?"

"We already can't rest at night, but now they come in the day too!?"

The voices echoed over the barricade's wall and were tinged with tones of hysteria and unwillingness.

All were sounds which lead to conclusions that were nowhere near good.

Jumping off of Efret's back, he landed in a similar fashion to Arturia, stopping just in front of the barricade's walls.

Already people were beginning to peak over from the top, whispers spreading amongst them as they pointed at him and Arturia. It was clear that none of the people above recognized them, but it was only natural as they had left in their young adolescents.

"That doesn't look like one of them?" One of the people atop the walls spoke quizzically. From the ragged clothing the man wore, there was no doubt that he was a peasant, a serf who worked the land for a living.

"Of course you idiot, they're human," another said. Yet this person immediately caught Arturia's attention for it was a woman that spoke.

She wasn't tall, far from it, she was tiny with her head just barely reaching past another man's chest. And yet, it was clear by her tone of voice and the way the others parted around her that she was the one in charge.

She wore plate armour that clearly wasn't her size, making her appear somewhat odd in comparison to the rest. Her face was fair and lined with freckles that appeared only at the bridge of her cheeks. Her eyes were like that of a raven's, staring down calculatedly at Arturia and himself.

When she opened her mouth to speak, it was only to close it again as her long orange tinted hair blew across her face from the wind Efret generated as it landed.

Evidently, she and the others around her were stupefied when their sights set upon Efret's massive frame.

"I-It's over…" A man wailed; his proclamation followed after by the sounds of weeping.

Even the woman who looked as if she was in charge uttered nothing as dread spread across her face.

Efret standing on its two feet alone had a height equivalent to the three-meter walls, and a wingspan that was far more than double. The added flame flickering across its body in wisps of blue and red only served to further force the people on the wall into despair.

Only, in the next moment, Efret shrunk at Shirou's prompting, it's size no taller than Shirou's shin.

The woman atop the wall blinked, and then blinked again, licking her suddenly dry lips before voicing in a wavering voice.

"Is it just me, or did that monster just turn into a chicken?" she said incredulously.

"I-I can fight chickens," another voice echoed from behind, though it was lacking confidence.

The woman atop the wall ignored all other chatter, her disposition instantly silencing the rest behind her. This scene caused a surge of emotion to beat against Arturia's mentality, but she didn't show any outward reactions.

The woman's eyes narrowed, but she sheathed the longsword in her hands after realizing that he and Arturia didn't mean any harm.

"Who are you two?" She then asked, curiousity evident in her posture. "And how have you tamed such a beast?"

As Shirou and Arturia debated on how to best answer, someone else beat them to it.

The sound a lock clicking open resounded in the area as two wooden doors swung free. A man then stepped out with an expression as if he had just seen hope in a uselessly bleak situation. This man was old, and the vibrant hair of before had almost completely shifted into dull greys, yet it was clear the man wasn't truly that old yet.

Even if the man looked different, he was easy for Shirou to recognize. James Wolfred, the man who's platoon of knights were feared throughout all Saxon territories. Yet clearly, the man had seen better days. After all, his eyes were sunken in and stress marks appeared predominantly over his face. This made him look older than he really was.

"Lord Wolfred," the woman atop the walls immediately bowed, yet was stopped halfway when James gestured for her to cease such actions. "What is going on, Lord Wolfred? Who are these people?" she asked, seeing the familiarity in James Wolfred's eyes.

James paused as he looked at both Shirou and Arturia for a long moment before grinning, relief flooding his features.

"I am not too sure about who the woman in knight's armour is, but I'm more than familiar with the man beside her," James spoke slowly.

James then turned towards the townspeople staring at him. "Do you not recall the rumours of old? He who brought about the beginning of the Iron Forge, and he who proposed the new farming system?"

The crowd began to whisper amongst themselves, many recalling those miraculous months of several years ago. Yet this was the first time any of them were finding out that such revolutionary changes to Bristol were brought about by a red-haired youth not even old enough to grow a beard. The reveal was quite shocking, and would take a while before finally sinking in to believe. However, James was far from done.

"Do you all not recall another name that rung truer than the blacksmith of the Iron Forge and even the Blond Swordsman?" James paused, staring hard at everyone present. "A name that is the root of why even now my Knights bring me honour across every battlefield! Bringing Glory to the name of Wolfred!?"

It was a dead silence, with not one man or woman speaking. Only the sound of breathing could be heard.

_He whose arrow pierces the void._

_He whose sword reflects the scarlet night._

_And a name that had once echoed over the entirety of the land._

"I'll tell you all. The man, who stands before you now, is a man whose image you must engrave in your minds for an eternity. For even if I'm now addressed as Lord, I will forever be that single Baron under that family's eyes!"

With hardened resolve, James walked up to Shirou and bowed his head low.

"Hail Lord Ashton,"

" **Hunter of Beasts**."

* * *

Shirou didn't know how long it took before the crowd around him ceased cheering, but he hadn't had the heart to stop them. Some were weeping tears of joy while others were hugging tightly to their families.

The wonders the simple phrase 'Beast Hunter,' could incite in the crowd was telling. Something wrong was definitely happening in Bristol, and he could understand James's reasoning for his actions. The people needed hope, and _he_ was that hope.

The scene around him was moving, and one that didn't relent even as James led him and Arturia to his study where the man shut the door and abruptly cut the sound.

Grumbling, James Wolfred tiredly sat on his chair and motioned for Arturia and Shirou to sit opposite off him.

"The situation is quite grim, and I'm sure that you must be curious about it by now," James started off.

Both he and Arturia looked at each other before nodding in agreement.

"Just what exactly has happened?" He asked. "The walls outside surround the entirety of the town, and you've even got the peasants manning stations rather than harvesting for the coming winter."

James clicked his tongue, his brows furrowing as he leaned his head on his hands: All signs of a man who was at his wits end.

"It was impossible not to call onto them," James said with a sigh. "As the both of you have seen for yourself, I ordered for the creation of a barricade wall around the entirety or Bristol. Not only did such an order require a substantial amount of manpower to cut the wood and timber, and then prop it in place without falling, but it was even more difficult with the current times."

"There was blood splattered thick over those walls, what caused it?" Arturia asked seriously.

Perhaps because of how determined Arturia looked, James's impression of her was quite good. It also helped that James thought her familiar for one reason or another.

"A good wife you've got there, Ashton," James complimented absently after a moment of assessment. Of course, James wasn't exactly sure of such a conjecture, but Shirou was already at the marriable age. Therefore, the misunderstanding was justified.

Only, he wouldn't have expected the reaction to be so telling.

The calm and serious expression on Arturia's face melted away into a radiant flush, and her mouth unknowingly hung open in her daze. Looking closer, one could see that her flush had even reached as far as her ears which was odd in a way. The Saber Shirou knew was slow to work into a fluster, but it was clear that there were already differences between her and the Arturia of now. Then again, in all other aspects besides her relationships, she had demonstrated a calm assertiveness that couldn't be underestimated.

It was just that she was caught too unprepared by James's fierce verbal attack.

But in any case, James didn't pay much attention to it, giving a knowing smile to Shirou instead which Arturia caught sight of. However, she did nothing lest she embarrass herself further and just crossed her arms with a sour expression in her eyes.

James snorted amusedly in response. "I needed that, thanks," he spoke. "A good laugh in the hard times is always welcome, but regardless, it's time to answer your question young lady."

James shifted his gaze until he made sure that he had both of Arturia and Shirou's attention, and that wasn't until the red left Arturia's face. Although a bit impatient with the delay, James couldn't admit that he was amused by the tension of youth the two were displaying.

"They started coming in the night in the past few weeks, monsters, beasts of some sort that resembled a pack of rabid wild dogs, but larger. Almost as large as our cattle, and there had to be at least a hundred of them or more," James said grimly. "I've never seen such a thing before, and it sure as hell spooked the townsfolk. We didn't know if it was just some new type of animal or something much worse, but by their speed and power much greater than anything we've ever seen, it couldn't possibly e anything else but a pack of beasts."

Shirou frowned. "You said that this started a couple weeks ago?" He inquired.

"Aye lad, it's true. They started appearing just at the borders of the town, slinking near the woods or high grass of the plains. They weren't much of a danger at first, rather we only rarely saw them in the night. Therefore, it scared the townsfolk, but the majority of them just felt safe hiding in their homes. Then things changed the following week. They began targeting our livestock, the last horse in this town eaten until there was nothing left but bones. But her me out,"

James pinched the bridge of his nose before leveling a hateful gaze at the fields visible outside the window.

"They must have planned it. The first of the livestock to be targeted were the horses alone, preventing me from sending anyone to call back my platoon of Knights, or even requesting for aid. The only good thing that came about this situation was that my son and Palamid are safe in their expedition with the corps. Those two have grown indeed."

As James was reminiscing, Arturia and Shirou both recalled the last time they saw those two. By now they must look entirely different.

Yet, Shirou refocused on the matter at hand.

"Then you've been without contact for the past few weeks?" He clarified.

James nodded. "Even if I wanted to send someone out on foot, none were willing to risk their lives after knowing just how many of those monsters were out there. Besides, my intuition told me that resorting to such actions would only incite the beasts into action."

James shook his head as he fell into thought before speaking once more.

"Apart from the horses and livestock those beasts were taking, I was at least content that they hadn't taken any human lives. This was how it has been for the past few weeks in which we built the wall, yet it all changed the night before yesterday," James spoke with regret.

Shirou immediately grew serious. "The night before yesterday?"

_The blue moon rises._

Those words from back then entered Shirou's mind. The night before yesterday was the same night that Merlin had also been acting strangely, almost solemnly.

James nodded wordlessly.

"After weeks of not having had a single man killed, we grew lax when they struck us the hardest. It started first with those further out from the town. It didn't matter if they shut their doors or tried to hide themselves, they were killed either way; dragged out of their homes while their blood left long red trails across the ground. It was a gruesome sight, and the reason for those abandoned homes you might have had seen on the way here outside of the defensive wall."

James clenched his fists.

"I wanted to send people to search for them as some were still screaming when they were dragged away, but no one had the courage. Not even I when I alone was the only one willing to go."

James stared at Shirou and spoke softly. "Since then, they've been coming every night to kill a number of people before dragging them off into the forest. The morale of this town has already hit rock bottom, and if not for myself and Sir Ander's sister encouraging and leading the rest, there may not even be a Bristol around to greet the return of my Knight platoon."

"Sister?" Shirou asked. He didn't exactly remember Sir Anders to be a man with other siblings as he never once mentioned them.

"Yeah, you've already met her by the wall. The woman wearing a set of Sir Ander's armour to large for her to even use."

"She's quite admirable," Arturia said with a nod.

James smiled. "Despite being a woman, Helen watched secretly as Sir Anders first trained to become a Knight, therefore she herself has some experience. She may not be good with a sword, but she's a lot more charismatic than that simple-minded man that she calls brother. And in this pressing time, that charisma was much needed to help support the people. Speaking of which,"

James turned to Shirou. "If not for your insight in farming and blacksmithing, we definitely wouldn't have had been able to last till now. Therefore, you have my thanks."

With the farming system Shirou had helped implement to David, Emily's father, Bristol was able to maintain a steady supply of food despite not being able to reach out to other towns. And with the weapons Shirou had once forged before, they were able to fight back against the beasts. Unlike other weapons that would snap or break upon forceful contact with the beast's skin, the weapons forged by Shirou in his childhood were able to pierce into the beast's hide.

"It's nothing for you to thank me for," Shirou replied.

James shook his head helplessly. "They truly were a large help, and as ashamed as I am to ask this of you now without consideration, I would still do so anyway. Can you save this town? I know I'm relying on rumours alone as I've never seen you actually kill a beast, but I have once seen the Ashton's in action. And you are one of them, and even if you weren't, my instinct tells me that you can save us from this situation. So please, I implore you to lend your aid."

Arturia was already in the process of answering, her expression conveying her convictions, but even then, he still beat her to it.

"Of course," he spoke without pause.

After all, this entire situation could be directly related to him. How could he not aid those who were swept up as a result?

Hearing his words, it was as if a boulder had been lifted from James's shoulders. "Thank you, thank you truly."

"There's no need for thanks. I promise that I'll see this request through."

Saying that, Shirou and Arturia stood up and walked out of the room, leaving James in a jubilant mood that he hadn't been able to experience in months.

As the two walked, neither of the two spoke as Shirou thought silently to himself. However, it was clear that Arturia had a few questions she wanted to ask from the way she kept staring at him. Yet she still held back her curisouty until the two were outside again.

Efret was before them, preening its feathers before pausing and waiting for instruction.

"Where are we going?" Arturia ended up asking.

"We have to look for answers," he said. "Therefore, I only know of one place to go. Ashton Manor. It's time to return to the place I called home."

"Oh,"Arturia said with an absent expression. It had been a long time since she'd been to Ashton forest, and it was one of the places she shared the most memories with Shirou out in Ashton forest.

Knowing exactly where they were going, Efret allowed Shirou and Arturia on its back before taking off in the intended direction.

They passed many people below them who waved as they passed by, but they didn't have time for pleasantries. Instead, they arrived at Ashton forest in a matter of minutes.

Everything looked the same as it had in their youth aside from the trees and shrubs having grown a tad bit more overgrown.

Even as the two rushed to their intended location, the fondness that appeared on Arturia's face was unmistakable. Suddenly she was in the mood for barbequed chicken. The kind she had first tasted in this very forest. Yet she quickly shook her head and got herself to focus like Shirou was.

Every step the two took was measured, the two knowing exactly where the Ashton manor was from memory alone.

Yet, as they drew near and Shirou pushed aside the bushwhack blocking the view ahead, all they saw was nothing.

The manor itself was gone.

Even before the two could react, it was Efret who charged in first, eyes ablaze.

Ashton manor had always been its home, and that fact never changed even once. It shouldn't have disappeared. Efret could recall that Lord Ashton himself had placed a specific bounded field that kept the place from truly degrading.

"Its gone," Arturia spoke in surprise.

Looking at the empty space in front of her, it seemed as if it was only yesterday that an abandoned manor used to reside in the space.

Shirou didn't say anything as he watched the grief appear in Efret's eyes. Instead, he was feeling something distinct compelling him forward from a pouch he kept by his waist.

Shifting his attention down, he fumbled with his hands until he produced a dull stone from his pouch. It was the object that Lord Barwheld had given him at that time when he had first gone with Kay and Sir Ector to the battlefield.

The stone pulsed with a hidden power, and in the next moment, Shirou could see a glowing door appear at the entrance of where the Ashton manor used to be. Flecks of glittering light surrounded it, and made a framed arch that spoke of otherworldly origin,

From the way Arturia wasn't reacting, it was clear that she wasn't able to see it. Only Efret had, and there was a sort of pensiveness on its features. However, Efret still entered through the door, drawing a gasp from Arturia when Efret suddenly vanished.

When he was about to inform her about what exactly was happening, he was startled to suddenly notice a slender arm pull him abruptly within the shining door's entrance.

"Shirou!" Arturia called out just as the image of her running towards him faded away into black.

Around him was a hazy sort of void, and not too far off he could see Efret glaring at a figure slowly approaching.

"So, you've come at last."

Were the first words he heard as a face so similar to his own appeared directly in front of him. That mouth opened slowly, pronouncing each word with purpose, but most of all, it was what she said next that forced his mind into overdrive.

"Welcome to the Reverse Side of the World."

* * *

The tapping of a finger on a hardwood desk echoed throughout the room as James Wolfred placed a hand under his chin and put on a bitter expression.

"He just disappeared you say?" James asked again for the fifth time.

Again, only a nod met his question.

Arturia stood woodenly off across the other side of James's gaze. Even if she looked calm, she was far from it. She couldn't even explain properly about what had happened despite she herself being there.

One moment Shirou and Efret were in front of her, and in the next they disappeared as if they were never there. The grip she had in her crossed arms tightened just thinking about what had happened.

Were they safe? Or was he-!

She forcibly cut off that line of thought, dread already beginning to pool into her being.

_Merlin. She had to find Merlin._

This was the only thought that had been continuously popping into her mind even as she informed James Wolfred about what had happened. However, she knew better than anyone after what James had just told her and Shirou earlier about the situation that she couldn't leave at this moment.

The people needed her, but didn't Shirou too?

Her agitation was only growing as the hours passed and twilight was soon emerging. All she could do at this point was trust in Shirou, because she simply couldn't do anything else. Not without understanding what was going on.

_Merlin, if only Merlin would show up at this time._

Walking out of James Wofred's study, she met the man moments later staring grimly out over the horizon.

Anything that James had once said about the beasts paled in comparison to seeing the actual thing. Despite the distance separating them from the beasts, they could still be seen. An ocean of moving flesh pushing forward at a quick pace.

And at the front, was a beast Arturia didn't believe she would ever see again. For it was the one she had slew as a child using the sword Shirou had given her. Unexpectedly, it had survived and was now even taller than the beast Shirou himself had slain.

Its eyes were venomous, and almost as if it knew that she was staring, it glanced at her direction snarling.

The fear she had experienced in her childhood surfaced at that moment, but was snuffed out immediately when she considered something else.

The beasts, the way Melrin was acting, they were all related to Shirou somehow. Therefore, doesn't that mean that the beast in front of her would know what exactly happened to Shirou?

It was a long shot, but it was something worth trying.

Determination caused her to step forward one step at a time as the crowds around her cowered at the sight of the approaching wave of beasts.

It was then that they noticed Arturia for the first time.

Caliburn on her waist, as if responding to her will was glowing in a dull light.

_An ember in the dark._

The sword of choosing chose her as King not just because of her disposition, but because she was someone _worthy_.

_May the glow of Caliburn light your way. For it is the sword of the chosen King._

It was if the light itself was dancing with each step she took. The radiance from Caliburn drawing the eyes of all even as they became stunned with the sheer beauty of her appearance.

A lone flower blooming in a field of wilted grass, vying for the light of a new dawn.

Even James Woflred himself was taken aback, not knowing that the biggest surprise of all was not in Shirou, but the woman he had brought with him.

Her bearings.

Her regality.

There was no doubt in James Wolfred's experienced eyes. She was of royalty. A princess.

Her steps became more resolute as the crowd manning the walls parted at her approach, gazes turning reverent.

She pointed Caliburn forward, and it was if the clouds themselves parted as a ray of moonlight bathed her in its glow.

_For the People, she couldn't let die._

_And for the answers in which she sought._

_She would bring forth victory._

She closed her eyes as the beast wave approached, clearly aware of all those who now stood at her back depending on her for protection.

_Sword of selection, grant me power, and sever the wicked!_

Eyes opening sharply, she readied her blade, expression tranquil as a still pond.

Yet even still, she couldn't help the feeling of trepidation that welled up from within her as she stared at the enemies ahead.

For the first time, she was going to experience a fight without Shirou by her side.


	34. Chapter 34

-What lies in the darkness may not always be what you expect.

Staring at the woman whose features were so similar to his, Shirou blanked as a hand reached out to touch his cheek. It was cold to the touch, but the feeling was only momentary as the woman withdrew her hand and seemed to step out from the shadows.

She was ethereal, a being that seemed to exist, yet not exist at the same time much like a paradox. However, to the him presently staring at her, the woman couldn't have been any more real.

Long locks of ginger-coloured hair encompassed a face that was youthful as it was elegant. The contours of her mouth was spread into a warm tilt, and her bronze-coloured eyes seemed to regard him as the center of attention.

When she drew back her hand, he felt an explicable feeling of loss that suddenly turned cold when he noticed the deathly blankness of her face.

 _"Foul wench, to take the lady's face as your own, you're lucky this bird doesn't reduce you to ashes,"_ Efret spoke with a glower.

Unlike the human world, Efret could directly convey his thoughts within the space in the Reverse Side of the World. It did not matter how proficient he was in the human language, in here, he could directly convey his words just as well as any other human.

Shirou wasn't surprised at the sound of Efret's voice as Efret had been communicating with him since young. However, the animosity he heard in it drew his attention.

Almost as soon as Efret spoke, the visage of the woman before him smiled before begining to shift. The hair that was once a ginger colour had now gradually become a shade of pale black tied into a tiara around her head.

The warmth that had been in her expression had long since disappeared. Instead, what remained was a solemn looking woman who looked at him in two parts pity, and one part expectation. The complexion of her face was a tad pale, but there was a rosiness on her cheeks, which denoted her excitement even as she ignored Efret's glaring. Walking within the mist-like shadows of the world around him, she appeared before him in a cloud of dark that seemed to regard him with scrutiny. The shadows themselves seemed to be her clothing, swirling patterns like black fur on a satin dress.

"You're late," were the first words out of her mouth, her eyes drooping. "The Lady no longer has the strength to see you herself no matter how much she wished to. Although, it was probably for the best that she hadn't."

Saying that, the woman gave out a long sigh. "From the blank expression that was on your face, you couldn't even recognize the woman who sacrificed everything for you. How ungrateful."

" _Agatha,"_ Efret spoke sharply, a flame in its eyes.

"Ah, a name I've not been called by in a long time, but I suppose it will do for now," Agatha said without a care before glancing at Efret with a raised brow. "You asked why I dared appear as the Lady? Well clearly, it was because something had gone wrong. With how it was supposed to be, the child was to take up his inheritance years ago, yet the Lady didn't so much as offer a complaint as she sacrificed even more for him in the past years until it was too late. Only now does the son return when the mother is too weak to offer greetings."

Efret clamped down with its beak, suppressing the rage it felt at this moment. Agatha's actions were a clear form of vindictiveness in his perspective. By appearing as the Lady, Agatha wished to witness a suitable reaction before berating him on his tardiness. However, she would get a reaction that was completely unexpected.

To think that the son would remember nothing at all.

Shaking her head, the excitement in Agatha's eyes began to die down; only a modicum of it remaining when she noticed that Shirou at least had the Ashton Magic Crest.

"What is going on?" Shirou finally could no longer remain silent. "Why are phantasmal species once again returning to the human world?"

Agatha pursed her lips, but eventually began to elaborate under Efret's watchful gaze.

"Because one of the Anchors that prevented the phantasmal species from traversing sides is weakening. The artificial anchor created by Lord Ashton himself." Agatha elaborated with a wave of her hand.

The Anchors in question were objects that fastened the very planet together. They ensured that the phantasmal species on the Reverse Side could not destroy the world of humans on the outermost layer of the world. Therefore, its importance could not be over looked.

However, Agatha was so nonchalant about delivering such news that she was even sitting atop a surface in the dark and making herself comfortable.

"And why is it weakening?" Shirou asked.

Agatha gave him a glance before replying. "Because the final source of power it had to maintain itself was on the verge of dwindling. Lady Ashton could not hold on any longer, and she refused to drag you into it for as long as possible regardless of my opinion."

 _"It's because you're a savage. Only a fool would listen to your opinion,"_ Efret scoffed.

 _"_ And you're a flaming bird," Agatha replied evenly. "You might as well let nature take its course and become a roasted chicken."

 _"Y-YOU,"_ Efret's feathers ruffled.

"Enough," Shirou said. Now was not the time for arguments. "Is there any way to strengthen the anchor?"

Agatha fell into thought before tossing Shirou a stone the colour of ivory. Inspecting it, it was of the same make as the object Lord Barwheld had given him. The same stone that had brought him here.

"You must gather all of the phantasmal species that were able to make it to the other side with this stone. Their power should be enough to fuel the Anchor created by the Ashtons for at least another millennia before depleting. Of course, you can also just seal the Anchor away after securing it and allow Gaia to deteriorate it. However, that comes with its own consequences."

Agatha shrugged. "The choice is yours, but if you were to take my opinion-"

 _"Agatha,_ " Efret interrupted.

The woman in question rolled her eyes and ignored Efret.

"There is another way and one much quicker if you're decisive enough." Agatha stood up from her position in the shadows and walked to stand before Shirou.

"It was the method Lord Ashton used before his fall. When only a specific group of phantasmal species were able to cross through the Anchor, all others unable to even think of crossing."

Agatha lifted her arms, and free from the shadows, the shackles that bound her were evident for Shirou to see. They rattled as Agatha moved around him, a wryness in her eyes that could be nothing other than nostalgia.

"A pact of old. And with it, I can guarantee that no other phantasmal species may cross ever again. You need only accept."

Agatha stared at him now, searchingly. Her gaze spoke of her loneliness, making it such that it was not hard to understand what it was that she was thinking.

_He would decline her._

Someone bound so tightly by chains even in the Reverse Side of the World should not be someone of little value. She was dangerous, and he could tell just from a single glance. The way her crimson eyes shone in the dark had an enchanting allure to it that even now made it difficult to stop staring at them.

 _"Young lord,"_ Efret advised warningly from the side.

He ignored Efret for the time being, his attention on Agatha alone.

Why would someone so powerful such that it was necessary to bind her in chains, remain loyal to a family of magi, the Ashtons? He did not know the answer.

Yet staring at Agatha, there was a voice that spoke in his mind. Gentle and soft, a woman who seemed to care for him too deeply for her own good.

_Agatha isn't bad. She's tough on the outside, but a big softy in the inside._

And it was ultimately this voice that allowed him to make a decision. Besides, he had mixed feelings when he saw that Agatha was in chains. The loneliness he could see in her only made it worse.

"Then I will make a pact," he said decisively.

Agatha suddenly paused in her steps, her expression stiff as if she couldn't believe what she had just heard. However, Efret reacted the most. Its body froze as if it had just died on the spot.

Opening and closing her mouth, Agatha finally swallowed before pursing her lips and moving to stand directly in front of him. From how close she was, he could smell the scent of gooseberries exuding from her hair. Yet, it wasn't the smell that made him feel as if he'd made the right choice, but the way she smiled at him instead. It wasn't forced, nor was it fake, it was genuine.

"Do you truly mean your words?"

He could hear the agitation in Agatha's voice along with her growing excitement. Her body seemed to shift away from the shadows at that moment, becoming corporeal as she scrutinized him.

Looking at his resolve, Agatha licked her lips, leaving them glossed as she smiled bewitchingly. She no longer appeared to be that elegant woman of before, but rather, a matriarch that had once commanded the respect of many.

"Interesting." Lush lips opened to reveal a bewitching smile. "And so let the pact be sealed once more, son of Ashton."

Shirou nodded, his eyes betraying nothing. This caused Agatha to raise her opinion of him from what it already was.

Efret did not know what to think as he watched the situation silently. No matter what, it would simply follow the will of its young lord.

Agatha suddenly laughed. "Good courage youngling! You remind me of that damned father of yours! Very well! Take upon this blood of mine and smear it over thine hands!"

It was the tiniest of trickles, a drop of blood that dripped down from Agatha's outstretched finger, but with that drop, the chains that bound her began to wither away.

The drop itself landed on the back of his hands, shining a vibrant red before marking the symbol of two fangs and a sword on his skin. It emitted a faint heat, and from it, he could understand that it was a mark similar to a sigil or rune containing traces of potent magic.

He would not understand its significance until later, but now, he was not able to speak before Agatha beat him to it.

"The Beasts of the Blood Pacts stand by your side, Master. May we bathe in the blood of our enemies, and strike fear into their hearts!"

* * *

_One can still find hope where there is nothing._

Arturia tightened the grip she had around Caliburn, the words Merlin had once imparted to her playing through her mind. It gave her strength, even if it was only temporary. After all, the nervousness that welled up from within her was not something she presently wished she had.

A breath left her mouth, her eyes drooping as her thoughts wandered to the concern she felt for Shirou. In fact, her concern was what was truly driving her at present. Above fear of death, she feared losing the people she cared about more.

Her eyes sharpened.

_O sword that vanquishes the wicked, grant me strength._

The enemies approached at an astonishing rate, the wooden barricades the townspeople had set up nothing more than trampled twigs underfoot. Her breathing evened, her feet planting against the ground before she lightly pushed off.

Legends spoke of Dragons and Knights, of Witches and Wizards, and the enemies they faced.

Now, she was the same.

Fleet of foot, her steps were without sound, leaving behind only the rustling of the leaves from the swift breeze left in her wake. She was no longer that little girl that cried in the darkness of the woods. She was no longer that child following behind the backs of others.

No, she was much more.

A delicate step over uneven ground, and then silence.

_Mana Burst!_

The howl of the wind exploded outwards, a hurricane seeming to form around her in the shape of a cone as she gouged a path through the very earth. A violent tempest of zephyrs that scattered dirt and dust into the wind; the sight of which rendered all at a loss for words.

It was as if a spear were thrusting forward to pierce a path through the dark.

The air was cold when it pressed against her face, her hair unbraiding and whipping back to flail behind her. Golden tresses that shone in the radiance of the moon.

The beasts snarled in response, the rolling wave of thick-furred animals increasing their speed. They lumbered forward on all fours, claws digging into the ground as fat gobs of viscous saliva rolled off their lips. They had the heads of wolves and dogs, their bodies disproportionate, yet it only made them appear more frightening.

They seemed to pay particular mind to her approach, the entire wave of them pausing abruptly.

Parting, the beast of her childhood stepped up at the front to meet her charge.

Its eyes were bloodshot, and the hatred it harboured was palpable. It remembered clearly the events of that night, of the child who should have died beneath its claws yet survived due to the emergence of a sword.

Even now she still had it in her possession, the sword Shirou gave that dictated the moves of its wielder. It had been the only reason she had survived that confrontation, her experience nowhere near enough.

As she approached with each step sending her bounding forward ten meters, it was as if time had frozen for her.

Her pupils dilated minutely, her hands holding onto Caliburn's hilt shifting along with her body as she began to twist.

_No matter what,_

"Tah!" Her feet planted firmly into the ground, the gale following behind her blowing past and shooting towards the beasts.

_This was a battle she had to win._

She erupted on the beast's side, ramming her shoulder into the beast's chest before grunting and throwing herself right into the lot of them. Her head began to ring from the imapct, a bout of nausea making her vision swim, however, her training kicked in. Spinning on her heels, she gripped hard onto Caliburn with both hands before executing a horizontal sweep. Flesh and bone scattered in a shower of red that matted against her face.

It smeared in the next moment when she abruptly threw herself to the side.

Heart pounding furiously, she watched closely as a large claw pierced the ground where she had just stood. Thereafter, she was swarmed.

_Not good._

Even without Merlin or Shirou explaining it, she knew that it was never a bright idea to fight while surrounded, but she had no choice.

_Mana Burst!_

The ability she had learned all too long ago flooded her body with magical power as she hurled herself further into enemy lines. Spittle flew as she rammed herself into a beast and then pushed. _Hard._

Like a spring, her small body pushed forth with immeasurable magical strength that hammered through the enemy line. No matter how many beasts were in front of her, she never stopped pushing as craters formed beneath her feet. The beast she had propped directly in front of her rammed into beast after beast, the lot of them clumping up before bursting when she eventually reached the other end of the beast's encirclement.

However, it wasn't without difficulties.

The Magical Armour Merlin had given her offered her enough protection, but it couldn't stop everything. Small bruises and cuts appeared on her exposed skin, but was primarily on her shoulders. They stung with every movement, yet all she could do was grit her teeth and persevere.

Caliburn pierced forward, its blade severing flesh from bone before swinging out again in a repeated process.

She didn't know how many beasts she'd stabbed, hacked, or slashed, but what she did know was that it wasn't in vain. From the initial charge, the beasts were closing directly in on Bristol and its townsfolk, yet by directly piercing through the beasts, she'd changed the situation.

It was much like a man stirring up a hornet's nest, they gave chase to her immediately.

Running through the fields, she eyed them warily, feeling fatigued as she wasn't used to flooding her body with magical energy for so long. Mana Burst was the only reason she was able to maintain her position ahead of the beasts, yet she knew that further use would only exhaust her.

_Shirou._

She pursed her lips. It was times like these when she depended on him. Even now, her gaze would constantly shift to the sky looking for the familiar sight of flying arrowheads. To hear their familiar whistle as even though Shirou wasn't beside her, he always had her back.

_"Even if you ever think your alone, you're not because I will never leave you."_

The words he once spoke to her caused the apprehension within her to increase as they filtered into her mind. It occurred shortly after the Vernier incident when she refused to let him out of her sight for even a moment. He had surprisingly taken her into his arms and whispered sweet nothings into her ears as if she was just some ordinary village girl. And yet, she treasured that memory like none other, just the thought of it making her giddy.

_A memory that now only served to further her anxiety._

Her expression warped as Caliburn lodged itself into the body of a beast, it's muscles contracting to hold the blade in place.

"Geh," she groaned as the beast then lunged at her.

She was out of options.

Her magical energy exploded from within her once again, the coattails of the white dress Merlin had dressed her in fluttering upwards. They were like white rose petals dancing to the din of battle.

Instantly, power thrummed into her arms, Caliburn emitting a magical heat that pained the beast greatly. It howled in grief, yet she could give it no respite. The other beasts were already closing in on her. With a squelching sound, Caliburn dislodged itself from the beast's body, severing the sinew of its arms in the process.

She had no time to kill the beast and put it out of its misery as the others immediately tried to swarm her.

Once again, she was shifting across the battlefield fleet footedly, seeming to dance from one place to another, leading the beasts further and further away from Bristol. She was completely intent on ensuring their safety.

As a result, she didn't know what was going through the minds of the people behind her, and she would have had been shocked to find out the impact she was having on them.

With blades, men charged into battle.

With valor, they slew their enemies.

And when the air festered with the likes of monsters that blotted out the very fields, it was a flower blooming in the chaos that changed everything.

It was like a dance, elegant and regal, a woman with a swift sword greater than the attack of any foe. Yet it was more than just that in James's Wolfred and the people's eyes, for she appeared as hope itself. And when that hope appeared to be tiring, a ferocity appeared in James Wolfred's eyes that had not shone so brightly since his youth.

Body trembling, James's could no longer hold back the turbulence welling from within him. He was a man, and he was left cowering in the back? Cowardice! He would no longer stand for it.

_A wolf doesn't abandon its own._

Gaze sweeping across the other men around him, he was proud to discover them in a similar state of agitation.

His mouth opened, and a voice stronger than any other echoed throughout the bloodied hills.

"To ARMS!"

Men and woman alike held dainty looking sickles and sticks as not many had the luxury to afford a sword. Even still, urged by their desire to fight, they stood over their fears to gather together.

It was simply the draw of Charisma.

"Helen, gather the men and woman on one side and meet me at the furthest walls," James said.

Helen, Sir Ander's sister gave a curt nod before issuing commands. The bulky armour on her person still made her look a bit off, but James couldn't help but admire her personality.

"My Lord," the garrisoned Knights he had left in Bristol saluted James.

"Fetch my armour, and sound the horns," James beckoned. "If we die tonight, we die as spirits of vengeance!"

For the woman who was risking her very life for them, it was a good day to die.

And so, armed with nothing but the armour and weapons they could barely scrounge, James charged forth at the front with Helen, screaming at the distant wave of beasts.

His shout carried through the still air before the sound of horns blaring encompassed it.

Startled, Arturia was just barely able to sweep past an over head strike before her expression froze when she noticed James and the rest. A warmth spread through her at that moment.

_When you fight for others, they won't give up on you._

Already the exhaustion was causing her face to pale, but she renewed her efforts with vigor.

She no longer ran away to distance the beasts from Bristol. There was no longer a need as the people themselves revealed their intentions. They would fight alongside her.

"Eei!" She shouted, Caliburn flying up into an arc.

Sparks flew as a claw grated along the flat of Caliburn's blade, lighting up Arturia's face as she angled Caliburn to run over the edge of the claw. It was with a flick of her hands that Caliburn sliced directly into the beast, and with a quick flash of Mana Burst, the beast was severed in half by the waist.

The torso fell to the side, but she was forced to kick the legs away to trip the next lunging beast.

It was then that the beast of her childhood struck her from the shadows.

The wind was literally knocked out of her, as she stared blankly at the fist that pushed against her chest. Then in the next moment, she tumbled against the ground, swarmed relentlessly by the attacks of the other beasts.

She immediately brought her hands to cover her head as the blows literally showered over her like rain.

"Agh," she cried out in pain.

"Get away from her!"

A barrel of steel rammed into the beasts and gave Arturia enough time to stagger onto her feet. However, the barrel of steel in question did very little to even damage the beast it had run into, instead it barely even left a nick.

"Damn it," Helen cursed as she withdrew. "Lord Wolfred hurry!"

Just as Helen had done, James and the rest struck out and pushed forward with all their strength. Their weapons buckled and snapped almost immediately, but they pushed on with their bodies alone.

Almost immediately the beasts retaliated. Bulky arms swung out in unpredictable arcs that bludgeoned James and the others.

Blood began to run down James's face, but he and Helen refused to retreat.

Even if they couldn't directly kill any beast individually, as a group they could force them back.

"Hurry wife of Ashton! Get over here!" James yelled urgently. He didn't know how long he and the others could keep the beasts at bay, but by the popping of his bones, it wasn't going to be long.

Unable to say anything in response to James's words, Arturia rallied to them in an instant to ease their pressure.

Her arms were already numb, and her muscles were screaming at her to rest. However, she was of Dragons blood, and had greater stamina then her peers.

"Fall back!" She said to James while striking out with Caliburn. "You'll all die if you stay here!"

"Then we die fighting friend," Helen said.

Helen wielded a knife of all things due to a lack of equipment. Each strike was like lightning with how proficient she appeared to be with it. It was almost absurd to think that all of her skill with a knife had come in preparation for her marriage. A way to a man's heart was food after all.

Yet this knife was not cutting anything close to food at the moment.

A beast hissed in pain as the knife jabbed into its eye before snapping.

"Well shit," Helen cursed before falling back behind James.

The armour Helen was wearing had numerous grazes and was even pierced directly through the chest. However, perhaps because it was too bulky, the attacks had barely missed contact with her actual skin.

The situation was bleak. Even with Caliburn thrumming with power by Arturia's side and mowing down enemies with every swing, there was just too many of them. Unlike Shirou, she couldn't fire off an unlimited number of swords and arrows, but rather she was specialized solely on single-combat.

_Merlin, Shirou, Kay, Sir Ector._

She felt helpless. What was she supposed to do? All around her she could see the people James brought with him die left and right. They were just ordinary townsfolk, not once swinging a real sword in the entirety of their lives. In fact, most were just using simple harvesting sickles as weapons, but they shattered upon impact.

How could a King allow his subject to die right before his eyes without doing anything?

"R-Retreat!" She pleaded to James. She couldn't bear to see others dying for her sake. Now more than ever, she wished to be strong. Not just strong enough to stand by Shirou's side, but strong enough to protect those who placed their faith in her.

_For it was her path to Kingship._

Caliburn suddenly pulsed with white light, shooting a beam that incinerated half the beasts bearing down on James and the rest.

They stood there stunned for a moment, and Arturia used that chance to her advantage.

She swung again and again, beams of radiance incinerating the wicked as a voice urged her with only a single command that was lost to her in the heat of the moment.

_Call my name._

Caliburn, the Sword of Choosing.

It seemed to strike at the rhythm of her pace, and soon, the beasts backed off from James and the others.

She was breathing heavily, only now that she'd stopped swinging Caliburn could she feel the dip in her magical reserves.

"Y-You, that sword?" James said quizzically, yet the admiration in his eyes couldn't be hidden.

The others were the same. To them, Caliburn was a peerless magic sword that was warding away all danger.

It was only when James scrutinized Caliburn that his eyes widened into saucers. After all, as a Noble, there was no way that he'd never once glimpsed the Legacy left behind by the late King Uther.

"The Sword in the Stone! T-Then the King!" James's exclamation was drowned out by the combined howls of the beasts, making it difficult for anyone to hear him.

A short moment passed when the howls died down, and still, in that one moment, a chill traveled down Arturia's back.

It was a shadow that zipped towards her too quickly before she could react.

A clawed hand clamped over her head and she immediately felt her feet leave the ground. A muffled shout escaped her mouth as she felt the hand tighten unbearably. Caliburn immediately began hacking at the appendage, her strikes increasingly more powerful as she grew more and more desperate.

When the pressure on her head felt as if it was about to burst, Caliburn once again lit up with a dull light that completely severed the hand. Falling off of her face, the hand fell limply over the ground and revealed her complexion. Red marks marred her pale cheeks as she then gasped for air.

Across from her was the lone beast that she had once fought in the forest in her childhood. It had grown, and even though it was missing a hand, it stared provocatively at her.

The distance from Arturia and the rest was around a hundred-meters from how far the beast was able to drag her away, and already she could see the other beasts beginning to converge on them.

She needed to help them!

Putting strength into her legs, she attempted to bypass the beast in front of her.

An arm blocked her path

Exhausted, she was just barely able to block with Caliburn.

Th sword as if reacting to the beast's touch sent out a wave of light that forced the beast to distance itself. However, it still placed itself directly on the path towards James and the others.

Arturia bit her lips, her numbed arms once again positioning Caliburn in front of her. She glared, eyes burning with fire.

Yet even if she wanted to do anything at that moment, reality was too harsh.

The beast leered at her, seeming to be completely confident in its victory. She couldn't understand why. Even if she was exhausted, she still had ample magical reserves in stock. After all, her reserves were something that even Merlin considered monstrous.

If push came to shove, she would release it all in a desperate bid.

_A cold feeling that wrapped stiffly against her ankles._

She looked down rigidly, only to see the beast's severed hand clasped around her feet.

"!"

Almost before she could use Caliburn to free herself, the beast was before her, a claw aimed squarely at her chest.

_Mana Burst!_

Her magic swelled at the exact moment the claw made contact with her armour, but even then she couldn't help but black out. The strike was too strong.

All she felt after the claw descended on her, was that she was flying.

Flying so high that she dearly missed the weight of Shirou's hands over her shoulders.

Keeping her safe.

* * *

"Take a seat," Agatha insisted, letting him rest on top of Efret when Agatha realized she had no chairs to offer.

Shirou didn't respond.

He was left in a daze trying to understand what the Beast of the Blood Pacts were. Agatha slyly ended up having her way with Shirou. Not that it was a bad thing, as she made sure that he was comfortable by glaring at Efret to ensure that Efret was at an appropriate size to be a chair.

Truly Efret felt wronged, but how could it argue when it was for the sake of the young lord?

After making the pact, Agatha's attitude towards Shirou had improved such that she was being more cordial. However, Shirou vaguely had the idea that it was more likely that she was just enjoying her newfound freedom. The chains that had once bound her were gone after all, allowing her to move without restraint.

Even if he felt happy for her, he still had to make sure to settle matters first though.

He cleared his throat to get her attention. "So, the other phantasmal species won't be able to cross anymore?"

"Oh, they won't dare, I assure you," Agatha said with a strange grin. "Just leave all that to me. However, for the phantasmal species that have already gone through, they would have to be dealt with by more forceful means. Not all phantasmal species can be as magnanimous as myself after all."

 _"You, magnanimous?"_ Efret looked as if it had swallowed a fly.

"Shut up chair," Agatha replied without missing a beat. She then focused her attention on Shirou. "For such phantasmal species, they will have to be confronted. That simple."

Shirou nodded his head before deciding that it was probably time to head back. He was sure that Arturia was worried for him. After all, he had just suddenly disappeared right in front of her before.

When Shirou mentioned leaving however, Agatha put on an apologetic face. "You can't right now," she said simply. "I need to gather more strength to send you back. As I am now, I would only be able to pierce a small hole back and nothing larger."

Shirou fell silent, his worry clear.

Agatha frowned in response. From how it was originally supposed to be, Shirou was supposed to use the residual power of the stone that brought him here to return. However, he had already stayed for too long and the residual power of the stone had long since dissipated.

"Well, I can at least show you what's happening on the other side," Agatha said apologetically.

It was done to ease Shirou's worries, but Agatha had no idea that it would have the opposite effect.

The first scene Shirou saw after Agatha waved her hand to produce a thin mist before him was Arturia facing a wave of beasts alone. That scene was followed by Arturia sailing across the air before tumbling onto the ground unmoving.

Shirou's fury burned like a bitter cold. His hands balled into fists so tightly that the sounds of bones popping echoed in the air. Yet he paid it no notice. Muscles tense, and face unnaturally calm, his magical energy fluctuated violently around him. Interface patterns began crawling up his skin as his magic circuits thrummed to life in an instant.

Eyes narrowing, he stared so heatedly at Agatha that she felt as if she were looking at one of her own. It made her impression of Shirou increase even more. She licked her lips and couldn't help but estimating the capabilities of the young Ashton. What would he do? She waited in anticipation.

"How large of a hole can you tear into space with your current power?" He probed.

Agatha rose a brow with intrigue, the question not something she was expecting.

"Around the size of two hands," she said cordially. "Although I would advise not trying to force yourself through. You never know what you'll end up losing if you do."

He fell silent with her answer, but moment later he nodded as a shining radiance stemmed from the sword that appeared in his hands.

Almost as soon as that sword appeared, Agatha immediately grew startled, eyes dilating as the hairs on her body stood on end. The world itself began to glow.

This was far from anything that she was expecting. It was borderline unthinkable.

"S-Symbols of the Fae," Agatha muttered in alarm. "But that's impossible."

Agatha shut her mouth as her mind reeled from what she'd just scene. Any preconceptions she might have had about her new contractor were suddenly shattered in a single move.

Shirou ignored Agatha's reaction and simply stared at her without a change in expression.

"The size of two hands is more than enough," he then said. "If you will?"

clumsily, Agatha raised her hands to pierce into the void.

* * *

A wind picked up from the east and began steadily blowing to the west; the sounds of fighting continuing to echo overhead, yet everything ceased in the next moment.

_When the birds no longer sing, and the world lays barren in ruins,_

_A hero must stand from the rest._

A flock of crows circled the sky above, black feathered messengers of death lying in wait for a quick morsel.

Their cries too were snuffed out though, their forms banished away as a heavy pressure filled the area.

It was a feeling that prickled at the backs of all. Something distinct that caused a lull in the unfolding chaos of the battlefield, and everyone felt it.

_A presence that knew no equal._

Swallowing, the beasts stared at one another as hesitation flashed within their eyes moments away from swarming James and the rest. They knew this power, for it was one that was feared even by those on the Reverse Side. Yet it should have had been impossible. The likes of them wouldn't interfere in other's matters so easily.

Space began to warp, creating a funnel that seemed to pierce into the fabric of the world.

_A light that was inextinguishable._

Cusps of air began to blow in the dimness of the evening, causing the hairs on the beasts' bodies to rise like startled cats, and even then, it wasn't enough to hide their trembling.

A palpable tension rose and proliferated, only becoming worse as time stretched on.

With the swaying of the leaves and the grass, the silence of the hills became deathly apparent. And in the dim moonlight, an object steadily began to appear from the cloudless sky, a chorus of voices following with it as the night seemed to burst into life.

_Children's laughter._

High pitched and energetic, and only the beasts could hear it.

It was the sound of celebration, of reverence, and awe as a seemingly sacred object began to emerge.

_A sword of the Fae._

_And the proclamation of the fairies and nature._

The trees, the shrubs, the water, and the earth, they were all of nature, connected intimately to what was known as the Phantasmal species of the Elves and the Fae.

Bards told of them as mischievous winged creatures, but also beings of great renown and beauty.

When the Fae existed in the world of man, nature was truly alive, the spirits of plants and animals rejoicing. And in this moment, mots of fiery yellow light began emitting from them, swirling into the sky where they floated like lanterns.

_A situation in which night became day._

The beasts were stupefied, no longer able to understand what was happening. This was even more so for the young beast that had been facing Arturia, a vague sense of dejavu welling from within it.

Over with Arturia, her fingers began to twitch as she willed herself to stay conscious, her grip beginning to slacken on Caliburn's hilt, but she refused to let go. Lying sprawled on the ground, her fingers then dug into the grass, looking for purchase to push herself up.

Her body groaned in response to her actions, the earlier blow to her stomach sending waves of pain that seemed to eat away at her mind. From the way it felt as if she was being stabbed numerous times with every breath, she was sure that she had broken a rib in her last exchange too.

Shaking her head, she gritted her teeth and pushed on.

She coughed once, then twice before she propped herself up on her hands, her vision beginning to blur from exhaustion. However, it was then that she determined that something was wrong.

There was no way the beast that she was facing would have had ceased its attacks just to watch her struggle to get up.

_Flecks of light glowing like fire flies in the night._

She blinked, making sure that what she had just seen was real.

Around her hands were several mots of light that twirled around her before flying back up into the sky.

Her eyes trailed their path and eventually landed on the object that had fully emerged into the world.

A sword shone with the luster of radiant gold.

_A language that could not have been forged by human hands._

_And ancient words etched into steel._

Her breath caught in her throat, her blood pumping furiously within her.

It was calling her, and she felt it despite being unable to understand why. She felt a connection towards the sword as if she herself was the actual owner, yet that was impossible. No matter how deeply she thought, this was definitely the first time she had laid eyes on it.

_But it didn't matter._

A breath left her mouth, and a dragon seemed to roar in her ears as her blood of dragons coursed relentlessly through her.

_The King who would lead a country._

_And the swords that fought by the King's side._

A power began to exude from Caliburn, its dim glow seeming to react in response to the emergence of the other sword. It thrummed once, then twice, before the sword of choosing bathed itself in a blinding white.

Almost as soon as this occurred, the sword floating in the sky shot down to plant itself directly before Arturia as if encouraging her to persevere.

Face paling, she forced herself forward with sheer willpower.

Wobbling onto her feet, she had no choice but to use Caliburn as a crutch, but nevertheless, she stood up. And in that one act, the sword before her seemed to present itself to her, hilt first.

_The reaching of a hand was all it would take._

On a blood soaked field where a flower bloomed alone in the swaying of the tall grass, a girl stood with two swords in hand. One to support, and the other held out in front. One glowing a faint white while the other was basked in resplendent gold, fiery mots of starlight traveling down its shaft like rolling grains of sand.

_One breath, then two._

When the moon loomed overhead and the sword was raised high, a towering spire of magical energy shot up into the heavens.

_A power and strength to be exalted._

_For it was a blade crafted upon the hopes and dreams of Humanity._

Sword of the Fae.

* * *

"Holy Sword Excalibur."


	35. Chapter 35

What did it mean to witness something that one could not comprehend?

_A towering light, one bright enough to pierce through the heavens._

_And the dancing of the summer reeds on a cold moon-lit night._

Tensions were running high, and the nauseating smell of iron and sweat permeated throughout the air. It was a battlefield, one strewn with the bodies of the dead and the injured, but not all was as it seemed. The winds blew fierce, and the stars themselves seemed to shine with a splendor that heralded the presence of something more.

A power ancient.

A power primordial.

_The breath of the earth._

Arturia's breathing was ragged, the swords in her hands, illuminating the terrified expressions of the beasts before her and the wonderment on James Wolfred's eyes. The stinging of her wounds were now meaningless, bones mending and skin sealing enough for her to act without restraint.

There seemed to exist something in that moment, a pulse of energy that the very planet itself seemed to react to and shudder.

The aura of that which was known as a Last Phantasm.

An Ultimate God-Forged Weapon and a Divine Construct of the planet.

Arturia's body was experiencing change. A phenomenon that she could not describe as deluge upon deluge of techniques she should not have had known were appearing within her mind one by one. Invisible Air, Sword Skills, War Tactics, it was all too overwhelming to take at once, therefore she simply disregarded them to focus on the matter at hand.

Power ran through her veins, the blood flowing from her injuries gradually ceasing as her mind calmed.

_Mine a blade of the people!_

The King who waged war against the invaders of her country.

_Mine a blade of the just!_

And an ideal that drove her ahead.

Her gaze sharpened, her muscles growing taught as the aura around her intensified into a pillar that stretched towards the sky.

One by one, the mots of glowing light in the air froze; their figures blurring in agitation as the spirits of the Earth they represented came alive. The Fae, the Fairy folk, guardians of that which was the pinnacle of Holy Swords, and they sung forth a proclamation.

* * *

_A time of beasts and monsters._

_Of Men and Dragons._

In the depths of the forests, far and hidden away from any man-made settlement, a beautiful woman sat upon the edge of a lake; the tranquil expression on her face marred with the stirrings of confusion as her gaze shifted from the sword still held lightly on her lap and then to the distant horizon. A simple observation was made, and it was one that caused a change in the woman not seen since times immemorial.

Ripples formed over still waters

For she felt an aura too identical to be called a fake.

* * *

Arturia would not understand the implications that she had created at that moment, but all that currently mattered in her mind was to save the people before her.

As her gaze settled on the beasts in front of her and then to the beast of her childhood, wisps of blue mana trailed across her arms, the energy of her magic core igniting into an open flame.

And for a moment, her pupils shifted into slits,

The blood of Dragons in her veins erupting with a dominant force.

She took a step forward, and the beast of her childhood took a step back.

"B-But that's impossible," The beast stuttered, beads of sweat forming over its brow.

_A suppression of blood, the effects of fighting against the bloodline of a greater phantasmal being. Moreover,_

"T-That sword shouldn't be in your possession!" It shouted in hysterics.

Even with Arturia's battered appearance, her presence now was enough to cause every beast in the vicinity to cower let alone just the beast from her childhood who immediately retreated to hide amongst its kin.

Hearing the beast's words, Arturia knew them to be true.

The sword that came from the sky, she had never seen it before. And yet, it felt familiar, as if she was carrying a sword that had accompanied her for a significant portion of her life. A feeling that only continued to grow within her, a blade of the ideal King. A history never to be forgotten.

A sentiment preserved within steel.

_Train not because you must. Train only because it's the path you've chosen._

A gentle touch, much like the way a woman patted a child's head.

It was warm, and so too was the smile of the woman in blue that flashed across Arturia's eyes.

Hair the same shade as her own, and the same expressive eyes of teal. It was like staring at a mirror. One that reflected the image of a woman who stood strong. Older than her and wiser, revealing a path forward as a hand was gently placed on her shoulder.

She felt its grip, the very resolve within it. It's confidence.

_"Worry not of the future, for he will always be by your side."_

A voice echoed into her head. Thereafter, the hand left her shoulder, and it was as if the image of the woman was never there, replaced by the thrumming yellow light of the sword in her hand. The crystallization of all of mankind's hopes and dreams, and the vow that was wished upon the stars on that day.

_The vow of a Sword and a Sheath._

"S-Stay away!"

The sound of the beast's voice snapped Arturia out of her momentary daze, her attention adjusting to the trembling beasts before her and then shifting to the positioning of her feet. In her daze, her body had been steadily moving forward, every single beast in the area withdrawing at her steps.

The beauty of her eyes as she stared up at the light of her sword at that moment was only contrasted by the resolve that flashed across them.

That which was wielded not for self gain.

And that which was wielded for the sake of humanity.

It was the symbol of a monarch whose name would exist for an eternity.

_The torrent of life that shines in the ether._

"Excalibur."

The name echoed in her mind.

Foreign and unfamiliar, yet at the same time filling her with a courage that extended past her years.

The sword hummed, a steady vibration of acknowledgment that coursed through her body and extended outwards. As one, the mots of light in the air came together; flowing like grains of sand that steadily crawled up Excalibur's fuller and up to the central ridge where the point extended forward.

Caliburn shone in response, the fiery white glow surrounding its blade resembling a burning flame.

The child chosen by fate.

And the child chosen by a sword.

She who would one day become King of a land known as Britain suddenly began a legend that would be sung by the bards.

The Warrior Princess of the open plains. The white lily that bloomed on the battlefield.

"Hah!" She shouted, planting her feet into the ground before charging ahead.

She was fast, kicking up dirt as she ran and leaving the grass to sway in her wake. Even the sounds of the beasts panic were drowned out by the sheer aura of her approach.

Charge forth and banish the wicked!

Caliburn sailed through the air, a flowing flame-like light that rendered all under its blade into motionless bodies.

With arms outstretched, and swords swinging viciously, a sword dance like none other was executed.

One plunged into the body of another, skin, fat, and bone cut apart as easily as butter. The beast didn't even now it had died until it coughed out a mouthful of blood and collapsed onto the ground.

Arturia pulled her sword out of its body before twisting and following up with a reverse swing to the other beasts around. However, despite her strength, the beasts numbers were too much for her to handle. More so when the beast of her childhood was beginning to direct the beasts to block her advance within the crowd. She needed to do something, and the answer came to her within moments through the thrum of her sword.

_Invoke thy name._

_Worthy King of Britain._

The hands that had once struggled to wield mere wooden swords were now wielding blades able to cast away even the dark. The training of one's youth rising in an explosive shout that stretched across the battlefield.

_Shine! The Golden Sword of the Victorious._

"Sword of Selection, Caliburn!"

It was as if time had stopped. That which was invoked was not merely the calling of a name, but the acclimation of a legend. A Noble Phantasm.

Caliburn raised up, and the dull luster of a pale white flame erupted into a wave of energy that twisted and distorted. Like the ebbing of the ocean waves, a damn of energy seemed to have been unleashed all at once. Unceasing, unbending, crushing all within its radiance.

Her vision narrowed, spotting the beast of her childhood lurking in the crowd of beasts. Different from the others, it was the only one moving its mouth in communication. The only problem was that it was too far away for her to unleash her attack on. Therefore, she had to get closer and Excalibur responded to her intentions.

Side stepping, she stabbed Excalibur into the ground in an explosion of magical power that sent her rocketing into the sky.

Twisting, she adjusted herself.

Wind whipping across her face and aggravating her open injuries, tufts of her hair unbraided in the midst of her actions and were blown back by the ensuing gale. Golden locks that shimmered in the night in her subsequent descent.

Her target was right before her.

It didn't matter if this beast had high regenerative properties. It didn't mater if its limbs could still move while cut off. There was no room for hesitation.

The light of Calibrun shone brighter than even the moon at her back, the trail of yellow-stardust left behind by Excalibur's energy blanketing all that fought in the night.

A radiance that carried hope.

A power that represented the acclimation of dreams.

And a feeling that all would soon be concluded.

James Woflred and the others stood rooted. Long ago had the enemies that had once surrounded them dispersed in retreat, and yet, none of them realized it. Theirs mouths agape, and their bodies trembling in unbridled agitation rivaled only by that of their awe.

A figure that bided all to remain steadfast. To reaffirm where their loyalties lied.

A King.

A Monarch.

"A Child of Uther," James mumbled dumbly.

The resemblance was uncanny, and only now did James realize it when looking at the woman wreathed in white silk and polished armour. Arturia's demeanor, her aura, it was comparable to Igraine, the supposed wife of King Uther and the scandal of that year. Yet matters were never clear to James about what had occurred with King Uther, the Duke of Cornwall, and Igraine. Still, it didn't take long for James to come to his own conclusions.

A princess had been born, no; a Queen.

Staring up at Arturia's form, James's expression filled with purpose.

For the woman who would fight on another's behalf, it was his duty not to back down.

"Men!" He yelled, breaking the others out of their reverie. "Chase the enemy!"

Leading those around him, James and the others with their bruised appearances attacked in a bid to aid Arturia.

None of James and the rest's actions escaped Arturia's eyes though, giving her all the more reason to strike before any more casualties could occur.

Strength appearing in her grip, Caliburn's magical energy reached the zenith of its capabilities as hairline cracks splintered over the blade's surface.

The sword swung, and the world trembled.

It was a ray of light that struck down from Caliburn's tip and landed directly on top of the beast of her childhood. The air began to glimmer, and in an instant, the area was carpeted by thunderous discharges of heat energy that reduced all to smolders.

The ground caked and dried, plants withering into a fine dust as the beast howled mournfully, its very body eaten away in the light. And at the end of it all, nothing remained but an uneven and scorched landscape.

Arturia's body plummeted to the ground in the next moment, raising up a cloud of dirt and debris that spread around her. Her knees shook from the strain, the tinkling of her armour revealing her state of exhaustion in the crater she had formed, yet it wasn't over. Just because she defeated the beast that had rallied the beasts together didn't mean that the beasts would disappear.

They ran in the distance, a wall of hulking furred bodies desperately attempting to flee. However, she simply could not let them go and ravage other lands.

Excalibur thrummed in her hands as she placed Caliburn down to rest.

Her mind emptied, her will materializing through Excalibur and by extension her actions.

She held the sword loosely in her palms, her legs spreading and planting her feet firmly in a drawn position.

_The roar of a magic core._

Wind began to twist around her.

She was heating up, the strain of the use of her own magic core raising her internal temperature. Steam soon came out of her mouth with every breath, and her eyes grew blood shot.

The power to save all was in her hands, the very hope of the people.

_Grant me strength._

Her eyes closed in a moment of clarity.

It was a divine light that grants victory.

Her body moved without warning, the steps seeming practiced. There was a swell of magical power that discharged around her, tendril of lightning-like energy hovering in the air.

One arm moved, followed by the other.

Then a turn of the waist.

And an incline of her head.

Her eyes snapped open, and when they did, the sword was swung.

_A flash that turned day into night._

Different from Caliburn, the full power of Excalibur was not invoked, yet even then it was enough. A crescent of golden radiance rapidly travelled across the plains, bathing the fleeing beasts completely. There were no screams of anguish, no howls of pain. Instead, in the dimness of the night, the beasts just seemed to disappear.

Arturia released a breath that she didn't know that she was holding. She was exhausted, and only now that everything was over did she collapse onto her knees. Caliburn lay be her side, flat against the ground. Yet Excalibur was different.

Right before her very eyes, it began to dissolve into particles of glowing magical energy, its blade erected atop the ground. The sword that had come at her time of need seemed to understand that its time had passed, fading away under the moonlight.

She stared unblinking, gulping audibly.

A breath passed, and then two before she lowered her head. Even without her having to think about it, she understood when she recalled the words of the woman that had appeared before her in battle.

The man who would always remain by her side.

Staring at Excalibur's deteriorating form, she knew that it must have been him who had aided her once more.

_Shirou._

The name resounded in her mind, a quiver forming on her lips. Her teeth clenched together, and for a moment, she remained as she was, at a loss. Where was he? What had happened to him? These thoughts were the only constants in her mind only broken when the sounds of hurried footsteps entered her ears.

"You did it!" Helen yelled in excitement.

Ignoring all forms of etiquette, Helen discarded her armour and rushed up to embrace Arturia yet paused as she drew near.

Behind Helen were James and the others he had brought along.

Arturia stared at them blankly before composing herself and suppressing the anxiety she still felt inside. She didn't need nor want to worry anyone. Exhausted as she was, she still forced a smile onto her face to give those around her some reassurance.

Sadly, it seemed to have the opposite effect as James's and the others expressions stiffened. It was clear to them why Helen had stopped just before reaching Arturia.

Arturia looked haggard, her expression pale. From the way she was forcing herself to smile, it was clear that she had yet to notice that her own body was trembling from the sheer magical exertion she had undergone. Although she had trained with Merlin, she had never used her magical core as incessantly as she had in the past hour. The state of her body was the result of her body still adapting to the magical energy of a Dragon.

Moreover, there was something more glaring. Just because she didn't feel her injuries didn't mean that she didn't have any that were yet to mend.

Everywhere where there was exposed skin, there was some form of abrasion or cut that stained the fabric of her clothes red. Her once regal appearance was in tatters, the whites of her dress marred with the colour of grass, dirt, and mud.

It was too much of a contrast from the regal bearing she had carried at the eve of the battle.

James glanced away in guilt, knowing that he had placed a tremendous pressure on a young woman's shoulders.

_She had really fought too hard._

Noticing that Arturia was attempting to push up onto her feet, Helen was the first to intervene.

"E-Enough," Helen said with a pained expression, her eyes downcast as she immediately wrapped an arm beneath Arturia's shoulder. "You've done enough, fought enough."

Arturia stared at Helen in confusion. Even if she was injured, her constitution was still far better than an average human. Currently, even if she found it troublesome to walk, it wasn't something out of the scope of her abilities. She immediately tried to refuse Helen's intention since Helen herself was just as injured.

However, Helen grew stern.

"Men come help me," Helen said grunting while adjusting Arturia's weight over her shoulder.

With Helen's beckoning, James and the others were quick to move.

One arm after another was placed over Arturia until it was more like she was being carried rather than being supported.

Looking at the solemnity of those carrying her, Arturia no longer spoke a word and allowed them to do as they wished. They handled her with care, bringing her back to the town of Bristol where they laid her upon a feather bed in James's manor and bid her farewell.

The consideration of the people should have had uplifted her spirits, but the moment they left to let her rest, it reminded her deeply that she was alone. There was no Sir Ector, Kay, or Merlin around her. Not even Shirou.

Her lips thinned, a sigh escaping her mouth while her eyes stared blankly at the darkness of the room illuminated by an open window. Despite winning such a fierce battle, she didn't feel like she had won at all. Instead, nothing had changed, at least when it came to her own circumstances.

Restlessness eating away at her, she propped herself up and removed the quilts James and the others had placed over her before getting out of bed. She stood there blankly, not knowing what it was that she should do, but inadvertently drawing herself towards the open window when the sounds of celebration reached her ears.

Bristol was in high spirits. The beasts had been killed and the townsfolk were now able to sleep in peace. Her expression turned somber, she herself should have had been just as happy, just as excited, but this wasn't the case.

A pain greater than any wound was throbbing within her accompanied by the uncertainty of it all, yet the people were safe, her duty done.

Her fingers clutched tightly over the windowsill, her eyes closing in silent contemplation. Slowly, she began to remove her blood-stained armour, placing it off to the side and cleaning herself before pausing as she reached for the hamper.

It was by reflex, but her hands were looking for a pair of men's tunic and long shorts, the type of garments that she had worn for over half of her life. Instead, what she found placed before her was a lavishly decorated blue dress.

It was the kind of clothing that she had only ever imagined herself wearing in her youth as a simple village girl. Now that it was before her, she didn't know what to feel; more so when she considered that she was currently no longer acting as a man.

Her head dipped slightly, her lips pursing together as a thought filtered into her mind.

For whom did she want to wear a dress for?

She had never really cared much for appearances. That smile. That tenderness. It was all that she had ever wanted. Therefore, the dress never really mattered, and she knew it deep down.

Eyes drooping, she changed into the blue dress, the silk-like fabric smoothly gliding over her skin and all the way down to her ankles. Thereafter, she found herself back at the window wishing to the stars.

No longer was she a King, nor did she hold any semblance of regality.

Instead, it was just a girl.

A woman holding on to a single hope.

_Please be safe._

* * *

Shirou only let out a sigh of relief when the last thing he saw before Agatha's projection faded was Arturia being carried off by James and the others. Only when he was certain of Arturia's safety did he realize that Agatha was panting in exhaustion.

"I told you, didn't I?" Agatha asked rhetorically, her face pale. "I was running low on magical energy before opening up that hole in space. And now I'm basically empty."

Agatha shrugged tiredly before taking a seat on top of Efret, much to the bird's indignation.

"I won't be able to send you back for a while because of this you know," Agatha said with a frown.

Shirou only shook his head.

"I don't regret it," he said, brows furrowed. "It doesn't matter how long it takes before I get back if she was gone."

After all, if Arturia was gone, then there would be no meaning left in his life.

Even the greatest of forged swords would rust and deteriorate over time much less the ideals he had strove for. Even when he knew that there was no meaning nor end to his goal of saving everyone, so long as he found the slightest of happiness in the process, it was enough. For it was what _she_ had believed in as well while supporting a kingdom doomed to ruin. More than that, it was the promise that he had made that brought him here.

To Arturia, the woman who had stolen his heart.

Agatha seemed to see something in his expression and a smile came to her lips.

"Does she really mean that much to you?" Agatha asked, placing her palms on top of her lap.

"Yes, more than anything," he said without pause.

Agatha's expression became unreadable, but it was clear that she was in deep thought. The way her hands seemed to subconsciously feel around her wrists also made it clear that Agatha wasn't used to being freed from the chains that had bound her.

"I see," Agatha said after a while. "Then that is acceptable. However, let's move on to more important matters."

Agatha gestured with her hands and a blank slate of rock appeared in front of her. Despite being blank, the slate was adorned with strange runic figures and four hollow cavities that seemed to be missing some component.

"This is the key to the Reverse Side of the World created by Lord Ashton, and as you can see, it's incomplete."

Agatha pointed at the four grooves with rough edges.

"Four jewels were used to power this runic slate as it was once placed near one of the anchors of the world. However, with the death of Lord Ashton, the beasts on the other side were able to temporarily commandeer it before I could intervene. As such, the four jewels that power the key were stolen leading to an opening to the world that those in the Reverse Side could exploit."

Agatha crossed her legs and leaned her back against something in the darkness of the scenery around her.

"As such, if we're going to solve this problem, those four jewels must be recovered and the beasts that traversed onto the earth, all sent back. Of course, the task of obtaining those jewels will have to fall upon you, young heir of Ashton. As for myself, even with our contract, I can only guarantee that no more phantasmal species will be able to cross."

Efret snorted at Agatha's words, causing her mouth to curve in displeasure.

"I suppose I'll have to correct myself on something," Agatha said coughing awkwardly into her hand even as she jabbed Efret with a leg. "With our contract, I _can_ aid you should you need it, but I can't guarantee that no phantasmal species will be able to cross between worlds in my absence. Therefore, you should call on me only if the situation requires it, and I'm sure that this oversized turkey can help decided if my presence is required."

" _Which is never,_ " Efret swore to itself internally.

"Understood," Shirou replied.

For the matter regarding the jewels that powered the key, it was something he had to do. More than just because it would save the lives of others, he needed to do it so that Arturia would not live in a world of dangers like the Era of the Gods.

"How would I go about finding these jewels?" Shirou asked.

Agatha simply fiddled for something in her clothes and then placed her hand out in front of her.

He stared at Agatha's offered limb in confusion, there was nothing there.

"Please pass me the stone," Agatha said, referring to the very stone that had taken Shirou to this world of dark mist and shadows.

Understanding what Agatha wanted, he did as was instructed and placed the stone in her palm. Thereafter, Agatha closed her hand, and when she re-opened it, a red fang-like mark was over the stone's surface.

"This will guide you," she said tossing the stone back to him.

He caught it without much trouble.

"The closer you are to a jewel, the brighter the marking over the stone will grow," Agatha explained. "However, a word of warning. Even I do not know who's in possession of those keys as I arrived after they were stolen. Thus, you best be careful if you run into phantasmal species too strong for you to handle. For that, you must at least rely on this turkey below me. Even if he might be weaker than me, he can still fly away when it counts."

Efret's eyes twitched. It had never run away from a battle in its life unlike what this bitch of a woman was insinuating. Efret knew that there was a reason he hated this woman, and it wasn't because she was powerful.

Ignoring Efret's fiery expression, Agatha was seriously staring at Shirou's face for confirmation of her words.

"I got it then."

Agatha nodded her head in satisfaction. However, she froze when she heard Shirou's next sentence.

"Thanks for the concern. It may not mean much, but it means a lot to have someone to count on," Shirou said earnestly. He had taken it for granted in his last life; the reliability and connections of Rin and Sakura and everyone he had once associated with that disappeared over time.

From then, he had always been relying on himself to walk along his own road even if he had ended up alone as a result. Therefore, he learned to cherish such connections.

"Ah?"

A small sound escaped Agatha's mouth before a redness rushed to her cheeks, her eyes widening.

"D-Don't get the wrong idea here Ashton," Agatha stuttered, her arms crossing beneath her chest in a stiff manor. "It would only be trouble for me if my contractor had a premature death. A-Anyway here!" She said in a sudden fluster.

A small object sailed through the air from Agatha's outstretched hand.

Shirou caught it and took a moment to observe it. It was a carved red-jewel shaped into a ruby.

"It has my aura in it. A mark of my identity that should help you one way or another," Agatha said gruffly.

"Then thanks again. I'll make sure not to worry you in the future," Shirou said with a polite smile.

"Hmmph!" Agatha felt like hiding in a hole as she stared Shirou. "Out! Out! get out of my sight! And _You._ "

Agatha dug her heel into Efret who couldn't have had found a better time to reveal its amusement.

"What do you think it feels like to be a cold turkey?"

A chill travelled down Efret's back, and it wisely chose to say nothing under Agatha's ire.

In the next moment, a layer of fog surrounded Shirou and he was brought along with Efret to another space away from Agatha.

"Just stay there for a couple days, I should have enough strength by then to send you back," Agatha's voice echoed out soon after, causing Shirou to smile wryly.

Left to his own devices, Shirou's sat down and began contemplating to himself.

He had dismissed Excalibur from Arturia's hands almost as soon as she had finished using it in battle. Not only was it premature for her to use the Holy Sword known as the Last Phantasm, she wasn't yet ready for it. If not for the fact that the Excalibur he traced utilized the history of Saber herself, he doubted that anyone would have had been able to use it as proficiently as Arturia had. After all, he was betting on a gamble.

A theory of resonance.

The wielder of the traced Excalibur was Saber who was identical to Arturia herself. Therefore, the techniques recorded within should in theory by accessible to her through Excalibur's own acknowledgment.

Don't get him wrong though. He wasn't certain of this theory and until he had actually seen Arturia fighting with Excalibur, his worries were not abated.

Contrary to how composed he was when Agatha revealed the process of the battle, he was beyond simply unnerved seeing Arturia so injured. He was frightened and anxious. He didn't know what he would have had done if Arturia had died in that wave of beasts and it caused his body to shudder.

Even now, he could still faintly detect the trembling in his hands.

He wanted to see her.

To make sure that she was okay.

And to hold her in his arms.

More than that, he was shocked to discover that he longed for even more.

He wanted her to be happy, but he was also selfish.

Shirou's mouth closed silently, a bitterness in his chest.

He wanted to see her.

He wanted to see her.

Arturia had come too close to death in Shirou's eyes, forcing him to come to terms with something that he should have had done a long time ago.

Still, he had to wait for just a while longer, and in that time, he would get to work.

His eyes closed, his magic circuits flaring and increasing his body temperature. However, he had grown skilled enough to know the capabilities of what his body could handle. Methodically, he began to direct his magical energy towards the Ashton Magic Crest to study its capabilities. Yet it wasn't as easy as he had anticipated.

There was a barrier surrounding the Ashton Magic Crest that was only allowing small portions of his energy to inspect it. As such, it was bound to take a long time.

Sighing, he could only get to work on analyzing it as Efret laid down by his side to rest.

* * *

In the course of the seven days that had passed, he was still left at square one. Despite the meager amount of magic he was able to enter into the Magic Crest, he couldn't discern anything. After all, something within the crest seemed to cut off his connection to his magic, rendering his efforts useless. However, he wouldn't just give up.

There was one more method he could try.

Yet it was at that moment, Agatha once again appeared before Shirou and Efret.

She appeared from the shadows, walking leisurely until she stopped just a meter or so away from Efret who glared back.

Agatha ignored Efret and shifted her gaze towards the one that mattered.

"I've recovered a suitable amount of energy and can now send you back at your behest," Agatha said curtly.

As soon as Shirou heard Agatha's words, he put aside everything else. The issue with the Magic Crest could be dealt with later anyway.

"Then I'll have to trouble you," Shirou spoke out, unable to hide the urgency he felt as he stood up on his feet.

Agatha nodded, stretching a hand out and clawing at the air.

Space began to bend and contort, Agatha's fingers digging into the very fabric of the world. With a small shout of effort, Agatha pried a man-sized hole open with her bare hands, her face flushed.

"Go now," Agatha urged in a strained voice. "Even if I have enough strength, it's still a hassle to hold this thing open for longer than necessary."

Expectedly, Efret was the first to leave without hesitation, fitting its body through without complaint.

Shirou followed soon after, giving his thanks to Agatha as he passed by and causing her lips to twitch as a result.

When both Efret and Shirou were through the tear in space, Agatha released her hold and watched as the world mended itself.

Once again, she was alone.

Although that thought caused an unspeakable loneliness to ebb from within her, there were other matters to concern herself with.

Her expression became increasingly inscrutable as she furrowed her brows. She hadn't brought it up to Shirou before, but the matter with the sword he had created was still fresh in her mind. Not only was it a Noble Phantasm, but it was also a Last Phantasm, something she never thought that she would be able to see again.

A weapon of the planet, it wasn't meant to be used by human hands let alone the way Shirou seemed to be able to summon it at a whim. Still, it was a part of her new master's strength and was thus beneficial in the long run.

With its power, Agatha could not foresee any phantasmal species that may be able to contend with it and was thus happy. More so when she considered another notion.

Was Excalibur the only sword her new master could create?

There were endless possibilities.

Yet regardless of anything, there was one definite outcome however.

Her eyes grew cold and filled with a dark malice as she thought of the future.

"You best not meddle with what's mine, Lady Vivian," she whispered lowly, disappearing back into the shadows.

* * *

The smell of damp earth and fallen leaves assailed Shirou's senses as he adjusted to his surroundings. He was in an abandoned cellar of sorts that had hardly been maintained over the years.

Parchment and bits of hemp were strewn across the room along with broken furniture. Based on the claw marks on the wood, it became evident that an animal had once made its way into the cellar.

He was only able to determine such details due to the light Efret was giving off with its body.

Still, he didn't return to make observations on an abandoned cellar.

Shaking his head, he began to walk towards the light of the hatch leading outside, Efret shrinking down and perching on his shoulder.

It didn't' take much to open the hatch, it practically crumbled into pieces when he pushed against it.

Moon light began to pour over him, the chill of the night wind brushing against his skin as he stepped out of the cellar.

He squinted his eyes, trying to determine just where he was.

Around him were tattered homes and upturned fields with traces of large foot prints in the soil. From the looks of things, he had returned to a familiar area. It was near the location where Arturia had fought against the beasts if not a bit further away. The traces of the beast's foot prints on the ground were tantamount to his observation.

"Efret," he beckoned, waiting patiently for the bird to take to the skies.

Even without instructing it, Efret was able to understand Shirou's intentions after it glanced at the foot prints left on the ground moving in the opposite direction of Bristol.

Although Arturia had killed a countless number of beasts, Shirou couldn't be sure if all of them were eliminated. Therefore, it was his intention to get Efret to scout the area in the direction that the foot prints led to. With a caw, Efret nodded at Shirou before flying off.

Left alone, Shirou closed his mouth before resolutely walking in the direction of Bristol in the distance. It was the middle of the night and generally everything should have had been dark, but this wasn't the case. Large torches were lit and smaller ones were placed outside the homes of the inhabitants. Even from where he stood, the sounds of laughter and celebration were echoing within the air.

He already understood why.

The successful elimination of the beasts that had been terrorizing the town and the relief of the inhabitants now that everything was over.

Despite the beast being dealt with around seven or so days back, the joyous mood had yet to abate. The smell of wine and alcohol was rampant within the streets, people going about holding bottles of spirit, beer, and moonshine and sharing it with others. He ended up avoiding all that however.

It wasn't that he wasn't one to enjoy a good celebration, but he wasn't in the mood to do such a thing right now. Instead, after he had approached the town, he immediately made his way to James Wolfred's manor. He wasn't sure where Arturia was, but he was certain that the villagers would treat her well after her efforts in the battle. Therefore, she was probably made to rest in James's very own manor, and even if she wasn't, he had plans to question James on her whereabouts.

Arriving at the front of James's door, he gave a loud knock that resounded within the household. Moments later, he heard the telltale sounds of someone's approach before the lock over the large wooden door clinked open and a head peaked out.

"Yes? Is something th-!" James cut himself off. "Y-Your back?"

There was a relief in James's voice that Shirou could hear, and even before Shirou could answer James's question the man fully opened his door.

"Come in, come in," James insisted with a smile, placing a hand over Shirou's shoulder and leading him into a living room.

The living room itself was fairly exceptional as James was a man of status in Bristol. Just because James kept his study sparce of anything unnecessary didn't mean that all his living spaces were devoid of luxury. In the living room, there was a sofa lined with stuffed pillows adjacent to the hearth at its right. Across from the sofa was a recliner that appeared to be James's personal chair as the cushions were still sunk in from when James had gotten up to open the door.

Sitting Shirou down on the sofa, James immediately opened a bottle of wine after taking out two clear cups.

"It's fine I don't need to drink," Shirou tried to deny, yet James simply raised a hand.

"No no, this one's on me," James insisted pouring Shirou a full glass. "If not for you bringing her highness to my humble town, then I can't guarantee that we'd even be sitting here drinking this wine."

Shirou grew startled with James's words. "Highness?" He asked weakly.

James nodded in all seriousness. "Don't worry, I won't spread the matter. I trust that there was a reason why you didn't introduce her to me with her proper title, but it's true that enemies can lie anywhere in these troubled waters."

Saying that, James drank an entire cup of wine, the red flush spreading up his neck evident to how strong the burn of the alcohol was. "Come now lad, drink, it's a joyous occasion!"

Shirou stared at the cup of alcohol in front of him, and then to James's expectant gaze.

Fine.

He would humour the man.

Taking the glass in his hands, he downed the entire thing to end the matter as quickly as possible.

James's eyes bulged before he laughed uproariously. "Good lad!" The man said in excitement before James filled Shirou's cup once again under Shirou's incredulous gaze.

"Lord Wolfred, please," Shirou tried to refuse however James wouldn't take no for an answer.

Reluctantly, Shirou drank that last cup, feeling as it burned its way down his throat. However, this time he didn't drink it too fast. Instead he partitioned it to make sure that James wouldn't get any ideas about him wanting another cup.

Wiping his mouth, James relaxed into his seat and stared at Shirou when both their wine cups were empty.

"Well lad, I'm sure you didn't come here just to drink now did you?" James asked.

"Yeah," Shirou said feeling a tad light-headed from the alcohol before gaining some clarity of mind. "Do you know if my friend is here?" He asked.

"Hmmm," James hummed glumly. "About that, your friend was here until just a moment ago. She's been leaving around this time of night for the past few days in your absence. What bothers me is that she doesn't appear to be in high spirits even though she was the one who brought victory."

"I see," Shirou said with concern. "Did she ever say where it was that she went?"

"Sadly not," James replied pouring himself another cup of alcohol. "Besides, I didn't wish to disturb her when she was resting from her injuries to ask."

Shirou nodded in understanding before standing up on his feet. "Then thank you for having me, Lord Wolfred, but I must excuse myself."

James swirled the cup of wine in his hands, watching as bubbles formed and shifted into a thin foam before smirking.

"You're going to look for her, aren't you?" He said. "Well don't let an old man like myself stop you. One has to treasure a wife like that, and I'm somewhat jealous of your lucky star to be born with the ability to snatch such a woman."

Shirou didn't comment nor try to correct James's words, instead he bowed his head and left with a simple goodbye.

The coldness of the night air assailed him almost as soon as he stepped out of James's manor, but it didn't bother him as much as it should have. The night wind simply served to cool the heat from his body after consuming alcohol.

_Where could she be?_

The thought struck him while he was deciding on where to go. Knowing Arturia, there were only a few places in Bristol with enough significance for her to visit. One was her childhood home with Sir Ector and Kay, and the other was the Ashton manor.

Both choices were just as likely, but he quickly came to a decision.

He wasn't certain that he would find her there, but it was a gut feeling born from the hope that he had a place in her heart more than that of familial attachment.

His feet moved him forward.

Passed the town. Passed the forest. And towards the place where he would meet her again.

Ashton Manor was gone, the area it had once accommodated over grown with tall grass and blooming flowers. Yet in the midst of it stood a woman.

Calm, gentle, and possessing a strength and bearing that was indescribable.

Sad, but noble.

Possessing a beauty mirrored only by her wistfulness.

The woman that stood alone before him in the clearing was wreathed in a blue dress that billowed under the pressure of a gentle night breeze. Her hair left upbraided fell over her shoulders, her body faced opposite from him. She had yet to notice him, the sound of his steps muffled by the hum of crickets in the grass.

The feelings he felt at that moment, and the actions that he wanted to take, all seemed to leave his mind.

She was standing there, her eyes staring up at the moon, and her arms motionless by her side. It would have had been a beautiful sight if not for the grief that seemed to cling to her form. She was pale, and thinner than when he had last seen her. It was clear that she hadn't been eating, or not eating as much as she should have. The glutton that he knew could eat platter after platter of food without pause nor drink, but the woman in front of him now seemed frail. A far cry from her usually reserved and noble disposition. It wasn't right.

His mouth opened, and then closed, the words he wanted to say no longer mattering when she finally sensed something and turned his way.

Teal eyes widened, the owner of those eyes herself unaware of the tears that trickled down her cheeks.

His hands balled into fists as a result, his legs carrying him forward to stand by her side. He couldn't bear to see her in such a state. It pained him more than he could ever describe especially when he remembered her normal bearings.

"Arturia," he whispered softly, a hand brushing across her face and wiping away her tears.

She gasped, his voice seeming to be the last straw that proved to her that he was real and right before her. It had been days with not a single clue or sign of him. Strong-willed as Arturia was, even she had her breaking points, more so when it involved those close to her.

She patted his hand away and simply wrapped her arms around him, her face pressing against his chest. Truthfully, she felt like sobbing in her relief, but she couldn't do so with the image Shirou must have held of her in his mind. Still, she couldn't help it when her tears began to soak his clothing. Mortified as she was with her own feelings, it didn't seem to matter what she thought at the moment. Her indecisions. Her insecurities about what was right and what was wrong. None of that mattered. All that mattered was that he was by her side again.

She didn't know when it happened or when her mentality had changed, but the thought of losing him was far more frightening than ruining her reputation. He who had watched over her since childhood and even adolescence. The man able to move her heart and the man who would willingly go to war for her. Her Knight _._

It had always been Shirou.

Her grip tightened around him, seeking his warmth.

"Where did you go," she spoke quietly in the silence.

Shirou did not answer, but more than that, he was unwilling to.

Instead, his body was beginning to move on its own.

_Something he should have had done a long time ago._

His hands placed themselves on Arturia's shoulders, the action causing her to shudder in surprise. Her gaze looked up at his, her expression shifting vacant as her mind seemed to blank. The face that was inches away from him seemed so small and fragile. Far from its usual composed and stern expression.

Her breath fell upon him, causing his skin to tingle, but he ignored such minor details. Instead, the sheer allure of her eyes that glanced to the ground in embarrassment, and the subsequent reddening of her cheeks nearly caused him to lose all reason. However, he was still able to think clearly.

The life that they had experienced together, and the journey that they still had in their future.

She could be King, and he her follower. The future had many possibilities and similarly many things that could go wrong, but nothing was set in stone. As all manner of thoughts flashed across his mind, only one remained. Something grand.

The possibility of a future.

One different from the one Saber had walked and one different from that which he had known.

Something of both his and her creation as they both charted a new path forward.

_A ship wading through turbid waters._

His head lowered and his lips pressed against hers, all doubts soon leaving his mind as he lost himself in the passion of a kiss he had not known since an evening long ago.

* * *

Petals danced in the breeze from a sudden flurry, a love blossoming in full bloom.

A moment forever lost in time, for it was the creation of a new possibility.

A new journey.

The beginning of a Fate-In Time.


	36. Chapter 36

From the moment, his lips left hers, her mind had already stopped working. The fear and anxiety she had been feeling from the uncertainty of his absence fading away until it was nothing more than a speck in her thoughts. Instead, an inexplicable joy that stemmed from the part of her that she had always been stowing away replaced it. That which was deep in the recesses of her mind. A place that she wouldn't dare venture to for the pain of a hope and longing too difficult for her to bear.

The things that she could have, and the things that she couldn't

The responsibilities on her shoulders.

And the simple wish of a what if.

All were things that weighed down on her like iron shackles attached to steel balls. Her life wasn't as simple as that of a regular village girl's, and she knew it from the moment that she had picked up her sword.

It can be said that she'd been resolved since long ago, steadfast in her beliefs and willing to persevere to achieve them. And yet, a factor came into her life that she never would have had been able to account for. The boy she had first called friend. He had appeared in her life in her young adolescence, when she was but a child more fixated on petty vengeance against barnyard pigs to care about anything else besides training. Friend, teacher, support, he was all of those for her growing up. He was attentive and sincere, and she unknowingly grew more and more attached to him. As such, it wasn't long until other feelings began to surface from within her when she came of age. Feelings that she was reluctant to acknowledge.

The night air felt cold against her skin, but his touch was all that she was focused on.

It wasn't fair, she decided.

The way he looked at her. The sincerity in his eyes and the gentle way he cupped a hand against her cheek. It made it difficult to hide away anything: Her ambiguity and unease, her joys and her sorrows, reflected upon her furtive gaze that locked against his own.

The calmness that she had trained and always carried since her youth, unwillingly broke away to reveal the girl beneath. Shy and bashful, like any other girl who found herself in an unexpected situation.

Heat began to rise to her face, and a tingling sensation began to crawl from her stomach to her entire body, causing her to fidget as goosebumps travelled up her skin. It was almost enough to make her go limp.

Yet she controlled herself, her duties and her oaths shattering away whatever may or would have had been, for she was bound to them. She swallowed before breaking contact with his gaze, her eyes glancing downwards.

"Shirou, I," she bit her lips, a part of her screaming in protest. "W-We can't," she eventually whispered, voice trembling.

For what did it mean to be a King? What was the path of Kingship? She already had her answer, and it was one that was a bitter truth.

A King must fight alone for the sake of saving the people.

"If you truly believe that," Shirou said, turning her face towards him. "Then why are you crying?"

There was a silence that seemed to stretch on for an eternity, the petals dancing in the breeze creating shadows that flickered in the moon light.

Nothing had changed over her face. Not her expression, and not her demeanor, but the streaks of tears that she could feel running down from her eyes were enough to let her know that any explanation would be hard to clarify. Therefore, she said nothing.

A sigh soon entered her ears, and Shirou's face suddenly appeared before her.

He wiped away her tears with a thumb before gently kissing her once more, the action causing the grip she had on his clothes to tighten and her resolve to waver.

He stared at her silently, an enigmatic expression over his face that gave her pause.

"A King must fight alone," he spoke wistfully, ignoring the changes to her expression. "To save others, one must give their all, and perhaps even go to the extent of no longer being human."

The words Merlin had spoken to her, and the thoughts that she herself had pondered on were spoken clearly from his mouth. It was almost too unbelievable to imagine how he could have had known.

She was captivated.

"The roads we walk and the decisions we make, regardless of what they may be, it's still a choice that we ourselves had made, but Arturia,"

A strong stare, one with a deep meaning, wisdom, and sentiment that seemed to look right through her. Her barriers and insecurities, her thoughts of what was right and what was wrong, they all seemed to vanish

"Just because you're correct, doesn't mean that you're correct."

Her breath hitched while those words played over and over again in her mind like waves striking against a shore.

"The branches of a river all reach the same point. They never have just one way to reach the ocean. Thus, the path you must take, isn't set in stone nor is it reserved solely for one."

She felt his arms wrap around her, one at the small of her back, and the other cupping her head with a hand to press it firmly against the crook of his shoulder as he hugged her. It was tender, warm, and secure, conveying the sentiments he felt.

"I have taken an oath, not as a Knight, and not as friend, but as a man. I _will_ protect you and I _will_ fight beside you."

She froze, all kinds of emotions raging a storm in her mind as she embraced him dearly. The tone of his voice, the resolution within it, she understood. She understood and it made her want to sob, but she wouldn't. For she feared that she wouldn't be able to hold herself back any longer. Her teeth clenched together as a result.

"Your dreams are my dreams, and your hopes are mine as well. You want to save the people. You want to create a home where they can all laugh and live peacefully like the days of our childhood." He hugged her tighter. "Even if you think it's a dream, or it's out of your reach, together we can make it happen. I swear it. All that I ask is that you believe in me."

The boy from her childhood. The boy who seemed to know everything and never neglected her for a moment; her interests always in mind, how could she not believe in him? Her head nodded even without conscious effort. The feelings within her were finally threatening to overtake her, but a part of her still wanted to know.

The answer for everything.

"Why?" She pushed herself away from his chest with her hands. "W-Why do this for me? I-I can't understand it."

She watched as he smiled back at her fondly; strength entering his arms as he once again pulled her in close, her half-hearted and feeble protests unable to stop him.

"If you're really going to make me say it, then fine,"

His voice lowered as he took a breath, she the center of his attention as he pressed his forehead against hers; the words he spoke melting her like the sweetest of honey.

"Because I love you, Arturia Pendragon."

* * *

She couldn't fall asleep.

Not that it was impossible, but because she was feeling too flustered. Shirou had already excused himself from her presence after carrying her home in his arms while she was in a daze. It was only now that she found herself tucked into her bed that she regained her reason enough to think back on the events of the night. Yet it was almost impossible to remain calm. More so when she felt the lingering warmth on her forehead where Shirou had kissed her goodnight before leaving.

She turned on her side atop her bed. It was the one she had used in her childhood in Bristol, and the slight creaking it made as she shifted positions was familiar. In a way, it comforted her as she lay on her side, her head pressing cozily against her feather-stuffed pillow, her thoughts wandering.

_I love you, Arturia Pendragon._

Her eyes seemed to lose focus as those words played back in her mind, a finger absently touching her lips as she remembered the feeling of his on her own.

Then suddenly, she realized what she was doing and promptly buried her face into her pillow in shame. She was a Knight, a soon to be King, her actions were disgraceful. Still, the goofy smile that forced its way onto her face revealed her true thoughts on the matter.

_Just because you're correct, doesn't mean that you're correct._

Those words had a profound meaning to her. It may seem that it was a paradox in words, but the context behind them more than made up for it. Even if the path she was following was right, it didn't mean that there weren't other ways to reach the same result.

Calming down, she raised her face from her pillow and rolled onto her back, staring up at the thatched roof above her.

To be honest, she didn't know of any other method to save her country and people, and this was the driving force of her conviction. But Shirou, he- her lips pursed- he seemed to see beyond her views and towards another outlook.

She wanted to believe in that sight. The vision he could see beyond her horizons. Was it beautiful? Was it grand? She wanted to know.

Yet she was selfish. Even if she wanted to know, she didn't want to risk the peace of the people in her country. Her being King would make that selfish desire certain, but at the same time it would crush the hopes of the girl inside her. In the end, it came to a single conclusion on her part. To save one or to save the many.

Her hands gripped her blanket and pulled it to tuck it around her neck, her body relaxing into the soft bed beneath her.

She already knew her choice, but just this once, she decided to believe in an imaginary ideal and method that would save not one, not the many, but all.

Because inside of her, although she didn't admit it.

She had grown to love him.

Just as he said that her dreams were his and her hopes his as well, his dreams were hers and his hopes hers as well. She wanted to stand by his side, to fight by his side. It was the emotions of not the King she was going to be, but the girl inside of her that knew no better.

And at the instance she closed her eyes to sleep, the girl and the King became one, dreaming of the future where all were saved; the light of Caliburn's glow shining in the dark of her room as if in acknowledgment. Her mind filled with the soft nothings of a man's vows.

* * *

By the time Efret returned to report to him that none of the beasts were able to escape, he had already returned to the location of Ashton manor. However, it was only then that he remembered that unlike Arturia, his childhood home was currently missing. In the location of Ashton manor where he and Arturia had been moments ago was just an empty flat of land.

His lip twitched at his blunder, but he knew that it couldn't be helped. He was too lost in thought wondering about what Arturia would decide on during the course of the night. She was a stubborn one, and it would be hard to change the ideas she had set upon herself since an early age, but he was willing to put in all his efforts for the cause.

A breath left his lips as he glanced at Efret who had a gloomy air around it after ascertaining that Ashton manor was indeed gone. Ashton manor had been its home for an untold number of years, and it was more than likely that if he had not stumbled upon it in his youth then Efret would still be waiting there.

He placed a hand on Efret's back to show his consolation, his touch reminding Efret that it wasn't the home that mattered. So long as the young Lord was alright.

Unwilling as Efret was to admit it, he had had a similar problem that coincided with Agatha's.

Efret stared for a moment, before it shook its head and gestured for a directive, suddenly growing weary from the day's plight.

His mouth closed for a moment as he thought about where he should go to stay for the evening, but it was already too late in the night to go back to James Wolfed or anyone else for lodging. They were probably all sleeping in a drunken stupor and waking them up to accommodate him would be doing himself no favours. Moreover, he was never the kind of man to burden others for his own mistakes.

As such, he eventually found himself back at Sir Ector's manor where he had left Arturia on her bed choosing to spend the night there. However, he chose not to sleep in Sir Ector's or Kay's rooms as it was too close to Arturia's and might wake her up with the noise he would make while setting up the beds. It wasn't that it was a bad thing to wake her up, but she had enough to think about tonight. He didn't want to involuntarily press her for an answer or rush her to come to any sudden conclusions by alerting her of his presence.

Therefore, he made the decision to sleep outside on a pile of hay covered with a thick woolen blanket. Tired as he was and mind unable to rest, he neglected to realize that he had slept in full view of the window of Arturia's room. Meaning that the first thing that she saw when she woke up the following morning was his form sleeping atop the hay.

The expression of dumbfoundment on her face was more than enough of a price to pay for sleeping in the cold night air. More so when she laughed from the loose straws sticking out from his hair.

He smiled, rousing the sleep away from him as he stood up and cleaned himself before deciding to make breakfast.

"Wait here," he said to Arturia who nodded back stiffly as he went to the barn.

The feelings of nostalgia that welled up from within him were enough to significantly improve his mood. It had already been too long since he had nothing on his mind for more than a moment, and he didn't want to waste it.

When Sir Ector and the others had left, they weren't able to take care of the animals they had in the barn of their manor. However, Sir Ector had asked the townsfolk that he was friend's with to take care of the animals. Thus, when Shirou entered the barn, it wasn't very difficult for him to procure some eggs for breakfast and some other things that he would need as appetizers.

It was the medieval ages, and therefore the food he could make was limited, but he had enough experience in cooking to make just about anything taste extraordinary in Arturia's words.

Breakfast was a quiet affair with the way Arturia was acting.

As soon as he had returned and made food, she timidly glanced away from his gaze as if she didn't know what it was that she should do in his presence.

She kept fidgeting and glancing over at him when she thought he wasn't looking. Clearly, the events of the previous night were enough to rattle her, but it didn't appear as if she was apprehensive of the change. Instead, by reading into her actions and the flush on her face as he observed her, he was able to deduce that his chances in swaying her were higher than he expected.

Pleased and optimistic with this observation, he served the food in front of her and left her alone to eat while he made more food. God know he would need to make plenty more as an offering to the bottomless pit that was her stomach.

As he left, Arturia looked towards the food and reached a hand towards it. She was hungry as she hadn't been eating much since Shirou had disappeared, and her stomach was already growling in anticipation. However, she stopped her hand just as it was about to reach the food and moved it towards the utensils Shirou had forged long ago in the smithery. She was eager to eat, but she suddenly became self-conscious of herself.

She took the utensils in hand and used them to pick up a portion of the food on her plate before bringing it up to her mouth. Taking a bite, the impulse to scarf everything down almost immediately took over her. However, she forced herself to eat slower, unwilling to appear sloven in Shirou's eyes.

Therefore, when Shirou returned, he was momentarily surprised to see that Arturia still had food on her plate. Generally, it would be empty in a few bites. He was in the medieval times so it wasn't uncommon for Arturia to forget herself when eating something good and end up using her hands to increase her consumption pace. He had even seen her do it in numerous occasions, and after not having eaten his cooking for several days, he was sure that it would be quite difficult for to control her dining etiquette. However, his expectations were contrary.

She sat with a straight back, utensils cutting away at the food in neat portions which she slowly placed into her mouth before chewing. He smiled wryly even as he felt a pang of longing within him. The way she was eating now was almost identical to Saber. A refined table etiquette and an appetite to match. All that Arturia was missing now was the speed in which Saber consumed food but he had no doubts that Arturia would be able to master it.

"Here," he said, placing down several other portions of food before he himself sat across from her.

She blinked at him, cheeks shifting up and down as she chewed before swallowing.

"Why aren't you eating?" She asked, drinking a cup of water before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"I already ate," he lied without much thought. Food was secondary to him at this moment, and besides, he enjoyed watching the happy expression on Arturia's face as she ate. It was a secret pleasure of his that he had dearly missed in his past.

Not saying much more, a redness began to form on the bridge of Arturia's face as he simply stared at her. Clearing her throat, Arturia shifted her attention away from him and chose to lose herself in the offerings before her.

It was only when she had finished eating and the table cleared that she gained enough willpower to stare him in the face as the two stood outside.

"About last night," she began somewhat slowly before hurriedly changing her mind and asking something else as she grew flustered. "What are we going to do now?"

He pretended not to notice the change in her trail of thought and plastered on an inscrutable expression on his face, his mouth a thin line and his eyes as calm as mirrors. It was enough that Arturia was affected by his intentions. He would take it slow from here on to ease her into it. The only reason he made his expression hard to discern was the trouble in answering the question she had just asked.

The Reverse Side of the World, and the mission he was assigned by Agatha.

He had to find the Phantasmal Species that had crossed over and reassemble the Key that Lord Ashton had made to enter and interact with those in the Reverse Side of the World. If he didn't, an untold number of Phantasmal Species may be able to wreak havoc throughout the land regardless of Agatha's intervention.

He stared at Arturia, thinking long and hard.

The point of the matter was whether or not he should get her involved. The part of him that wished to protect her said no, but the logical part of him knew that she would never accept such an outcome. As such, she may very well attempt to follow him and end up in even more danger than if she had just travelled alongside him.

Exhaling, he decided that it wasn't worth it to keep this away from her. Yet that didn't mean that he didn't try to dissuade her from coming along or attempting to follow him. His words of persuasion however only served to infuriate her, an anger surfacing in her eyes towards him that he had never seen before.

"NO!" She denied, smacking a hand on the table, the noise piercing to his ears. "No matter what you say, I will not agree to let you handle this on your own. You said it yourself, even you don't know the dangers you may face and you expect me to be comfortable with that?"

She glared at him, the agitation in her eyes evident. It wasn't fair. He had stirred up her emotions the previous night, filling her with unending happiness, unease, and expectation for the future alongside him, and now he was trying to dissuade her from remaining by his side because it was dangerous? Bullshit.

Didn't he understand that sometimes the fear of knowing that he might not come back was worse than dying? It was akin to a specter constantly clawing at her heart and mind. There was no way she could ever grow accustomed to such a feeling.

Those stories of men and Knights leaving their damsels behind for their safety, she could understand the sentiment. However, none of those stories ever spoke of the grief that those left behind remain with until the Knight returns.

Unlike those damsels, she refused such notions.

Live or die, she would rather fight by the side of the one she cared about.

This wasn't about being a King or a Knight, this was simply her own personal feeling.

She crossed her arms even as her glare became increasingly frosted, the aura around her easily able to deter others. Therefore, it was unexpected that Shirou would pull her into hug, lean his head down, and whisper into her ears.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have tried," he said gently.

His arguments to persuade her had been mediocre at best. He knew that if Arturia were the one asking him to stay while she ventured forth into danger, then he would never have had agreed. How could he have had expected Arturia to agree to something that he himself would never have had agreed to. In the end, it was the result of human selfishness.

He ran a hand through her hair as she eased into his embrace, the anger she had before dissipating.

"As long as you understand," she mumbled before pushing away from him. "If everything is as you've described, then we don't have much time to waste."

He nodded his head. "I've already planned it out and sent Efret to get ready near James Wolfred's manor. Before leaving we must at least express our farewells to the current Lord of the Land."

"Definitely. I still have to thank him for his efforts in the battle against the beasts. Now then," Arturia spoke lightly as she bounded forward a couple steps before turning back to smile at him. "Shall we get going?"

Shirou returned the smile, but it was only then that Arturia realized that there was something _wrong_ as a peculiar but familiar smell entered her nose.

"I have two things to say," Shirou said mysteriously. "Where do you think you are, and what do you think you're standing on?"

Over the course of the conversation in the morning, the two had involuntarily been walking around Sir Ector's manor. It was only near the end of the conversation and when he had hugged Arturia that the two had stopped in their walk. The problem however, was just where exactly the two had stopped.

Gradually, Arturia's gaze shifted down to her feet as a certain unease began to fill her mind.

_No way._

_There was just no way._

Ever since her childhood, there had only ever been one thing that she had hated doing in her list of chores.

Her lips twitched, her face paling as her mind gave her the answer to Shirou's first question.

The stys.

The _pig_ stys.

Then what did that mean the brown stains on her shoes were?

Her mind blanked.

_##$##!_

* * *

"I want bacon, a _mountain_ ," Arturia insisted stubbornly after the two had given James Wolfred a quick farewell and boarded onto Efret's back. Her arms were crossed together and there was an odd twitching at the top of her brow that had only grown worse when James had inquired about the brown spots on her shoes.

Shirou shook his head in exasperation. "I've already told you its impossible to make an entire mountain. Do you know how many pigs you'd need for that?"

"Let them feed their King." Arturia's face darkened sinisterly, the ahoge on her head seemingly disappearing as her entire demeanor shifted to a different person. A dark and malefic aura surrounded her. Her golden-coloured hair changing into a lighter pale white while her pupils turned into a pallid-yellow, filled with a thinly veiled murderous intent.

Shirou blinked when he stared at her before he rubbed at his eyes, clearly thinking that he was seeing things. When next he stared at her, the image he had seen was replaced with the Arturia he knew who now sat quietly with a pout on her face.

He chose to ignore the burning question in his mind and instead prompted Efret to take flight into the air.

With a flurry of its wings, Efret ascended to the sky, leaving behind the town of Bristol until the people within it became nothing more than tiny specs on the ground.

It wasn't till then that Shirou pulled out the stone marked by Agatha which would lead him towards the direction of one of the missing jewels related to the slate in his possession.

A dull glow suffused the rock, and it seemed to point him into four different locations. The feeling was similar to being tugged in his mind. The closer the target, the stronger the pull in his head. He decided then that it would be best to start with the farthest rather than start with something closer. After all, it would save time going there and back, and more importantly lead to less trouble for the people Arturia cared about. If something went out of hand due to their inexperience in the matter and the Phantasmal Species began raging in areas near Sir Ector and the rest, he didn't want to think about the casualties.

Therefore, the farthest was the safest choice due to inexperience.

Atop Efret's back, the world below was moving like a blur, vast plains, bogs, and hills passing by nearly every minute. This was the advantage of air travel. There were no obstacles that one had to maneuver around, nor where there any bandits or the like to impede them. It was simply just straight flying, and if anything, the cold wind was the only problem.

Even with Arturia and himself close together atop Efret's back, the fierce winds were able to pierce directly through the fabric of their clothes.

Arturia shivered, but she closed her mouth tight and put up with it, arms hugging around herself for warmth.

He wanted to pull her into his embrace to share his body heat, but the stone in his hands was preventing him from doing so. The tugging was getting stronger and more inclined towards one direction. It was to the point where he had to use conscious effort to prevent it from slipping out of his hands. The glow on it had long since turned radiant, and it was at that moment that he willed Efret to land.

They were close and he didn't want to be sighted so easily without precaution.

Efret landed in a dense and uninhabited forest, no signs of civilization for miles on end.

"Where are we?" Arturia asked as she got off of Efret's back.

Based on the memory he had of the map of Great Britain from the modern day, they had been travelling North for quite sometime. Therefore, he speculated that he was near where Newcastle should have had been on the map. Yet, he wasn't certain if Newcastle even existed yet and was unable to reply to Arturia's question.

"Somewhere North," he said frankly before staring up at the sky.

It was nearing evening as the two of them had been riding on Efret's back for the majority of the day.

"Let's set up a camp," he said. "If we don't start now, it'll be too dark for us to gather any firewood."

Of course, they could have had used the radiant glow of the stone in his hand, but he wasn't willing to risk alerting the Phantasmal Beast they were searching for that they were nearby. Thus, he had wrapped the stone in leathers and stored it in a bag he kept by his waist as Efret had descended.

"Then I'll look around for some dry sticks for the fire," Arturia replied as she strapped Caliburn to her side.

As he had made sure to pack enough for the journey, the two didn't have to worry about food and water and were quickly able to build a small camp in which they could spend the night. Luckily, they finished just before the darkness set in.

A trail of smoke soon exited the forest canopy and rose towards the half-moon in the sky, the area around Arturia and himself lit with a flickering orange flame.

"It's like camping with Sir Ector," Arturia spoke to break the silence. A twig was in her hands and attached to it was a piece of meat that she was roasting over the fire.

"You could say that," he agreed, similarly roasting his own piece of meat. "But more importantly, I think you might be holding that a bit too far in."

In her impatience for the meat to cook, Arturia had stuck her food directly into the fire.

"Oh," she said, pulling her food back.

Its surface was blackened, and the insides were clearly still raw.

It was too late to save it.

He shook his head, and before she could protest, he took the food from her hands and switched it with the one in his.

"Shirou, you," her protests died when he gave her a glance, her expression turning demure as she nibbled on the food.

After all, the look in his gaze spoke of the feelings he felt for her more than just the words he had once spoken.

"Eat it, it's okay," he said, roasting Arturia's burnt piece of food some more before taking a bite out of it. "It doesn't really matter what I eat anyway. You can understand what I find more important to me than just mere taste can't you?"

"Y-Yeah," she stuttered, head bowing as a warm fuzziness welled up from within her.

Was this what Sir Ector called affection? Was this what the other village girls called love?

She didn't know, but it was a tender feeling that she found herself unwilling to give up, her neutral expression marred by joyful emotion.

She bit into the food in her hands, and although it hardly tasted as good as the other things Shirou had made, in her heart, it would become a fond memory.

Time ticked by slowly as the two ate, a warm-hearted atmosphere permeating in the air that was only broken when Shirou's eyes narrowed at something in the distance.

"Come out," he called gruffly, and from the woods a figure appeared.

"Humans?" It spoke.

Its appearance was humanoid, thick greyish fur growing out from all over its bare-chested body covered only by small segments of metal plates passed off as armour. Its face was cat-like, and its muscles were visible despite the thickness of its fur.

It sniffed, slitted pupils widening in confusion.

"Halflings?" It said, turning its attention on Arturia before approaching.

It could smell that the blood in Arturia's veins wasn't ordinary, and just one look at Efret perched on Shirou's shoulder was enough for it to deduce that things may not be as it seemed.

It closed its mouth and forced itself to stop salivating, the potential human meal it thought it had found turning out to be for naught.

"Greetings, fellow halflings," it said cordially. "Are you also here by the call of that Great One?"

Shirou glanced at Arturia, and it was more than enough to get the message across. It was likely that this Great One spoken of was the Phantasmal Beast that they were after. Still, they needed more information.

"That is our purpose, however, my companion and I ended up lost after a day's travel," Shirou answered.

"Is that so?" The cat-like creature approached less cautiously before sitting down a couple feet away from the fire. "You're in luck, the gathering's actually supposed to happen by midnight. I can lead you there now that I've met you."

"Then I thank you before hand, still, do you happen to know what this gathering's about?" Shirou asked.

He knew that he was taking a gamble with this question, but it needed to be asked so that he and Arturia wouldn't walk into something they couldn't easily get out of.

"Exactly, this gathering's too sudden for anyone to know its purpose, but what are halflings like us going to do under the call of a superior Phantasmal Beast?" It laughed wryly. "Moreover, you two have got to be the most human-like halflings I've ever ran into. If it wasn't for myself being a demi-human werejaguar able to differentiate the smell of you two, then I probably would have had attacked and eaten you for dinner. Name's Arkus."

"Then you don't know the point of this gathering?"

"No," Arkus said frankly before glancing up at the sky. "But I do know that all the other halflings in the area are bound to gather towards it like the three of us. Speaking of which, it's time."

Arkus stood up on its feet and beckoned for Shirou and Arturia to follow.

They stared at each other, but ultimately moved to follow Arkus when Arturia took the initiative.

They were lead through the dark forest, branches and bramble scraping against their skin as they walked. However, it was fortunate for them that Arkus was leading in the dark. They didn't stumble or trip on any roots or branches by simply following after it.

Eventually, the forest cleared up to a large expanse of open but barren land filled with halflings and some other phantasmal species. Some were like Arkus, others appeared to be werewolves and serpent-like folk.

He heard Arturia gasp by his side just from the sheer number of them. In the darkness of the night, it was hard to tell even with the moon's light. However, it was clear that there were more than a thousand.

"All of you half-breeds line up!" A gruff voice yelled out.

It came from a towering giant made out of stone. It was bulky in appearance with a rounded stomach, fat arms, and a flat face.

"A Spriggan," Arkus spoke in surprise.

Spriggans were a race of Phantasmal Species that generally hadn't appeared in civilization since the Age of the Gods. Even then, they preferred to live as one with nature in the forests as guardian protectors. Moreover, they were considerably strong, and as a species with close ties with the earth, they also had high vitality.

Shirou frowned but acted along with Arturia to imitate the halflings as they formed into neat rows. Thereafter, several other Spriggans appeared to walk down the aisles produced while holding onto an orb of some sort that glowed with magical light.

"Listen here, the Great One has given you all an opportunity to land in his graces. Whether or not you pass this test will determine if your journey here was worth the effort!"

Saying that, the lead Spriggan held the orb near one of the halflings before speaking impassively.

"Fail!"

Saying that, it walked completely past the failed halfling.

All around, similar scenes were occurring and it was only when the lead Spriggan neared where Shirou and Arturia were standing did Shirou get a good glimpse of the orb in the Spriggan's hands. Structural Analysis revealed its exact function.

It was imbued with a magic that detected the purity of a Phantasmal Species blood, and at the same time, differentiated its type as a phantasmal species. It worked to scry the secrets of the origins of the individual before it.

For example, when the lead Spriggan stopped in front of Arkus, the orb flashed with a light that labeled Arkus as a WereJaguar with a high purity in it's blood.

"Pass!" The Spriggan said gruffly.

It was then that Shirou tensed. After all, the lead Spriggan was standing before Arturia and not saying anything.

From the moment he and Arturia had arrived, their human-like appearance had garnered the attention of nearly everyone including the Spriggans. However, as everyone present were either halflings or Phantasmal Species, none bothered to make a move.

It was only now however after the lead Spirggan had paused that suspicions began to arise.

If Humans truly did trespass into this place, then it was a death sentence in the eyes of everyone present.

Yet before the halflings and other Phantasmal Species could get carried away, the lead Spriggan spoke in an unnaturally high tone. One filled with disbelief and awe.

"D-Dragon's blood!" It said, features gawking. "P-Pass!"

Everyone was left astounded, causing Arturia to feel awkward as she glanced at the ground.

Dragons were the pinnacle of Phantasmal Species. Members of Transcendent Kind, and extensions of the world created in a form independent from nature. Even just modicum of their blood could elevate the status of a halfling or any Phantasmal Species. And from the orb in the Spriggan's hand vibrating with a radiant light, the Dragon's blood in Arturia was incredibly potent, her magical reserves almost immeasurable.

Every halfling and Phantasmal Species nearby gave Arturia a wide berth, and this included Arkus, but excluded Shirou who remained where he was.

The lead Spriggan's eyes turned dismissively onto Shirou.

Here before it, it had just announced the bloodline of the pinnacle of Phantasmal Species. Whatever halfling Shirou may be, the lead Spriggan doubted that it could be anything substantial.

However, it still underwent the necessary procedure as Shirou readied himself for anything that could go wrong. Unlike Arturia, he wasn't of Dragon's blood or any kind of blood he could think of. Instead, he thought himself to be completely human.

Evidently, Arturia thought the same as she stared at him in concern, ready to fight her way out of the situation.

Yet everything occurred out of expectation.

Because when the lead Spriggan placed the orb in front of him,

It simply shattered, fragments deteriorating to dust in the wind.

* * *

Elsewhere, within a dark fog, Agatha smiled in amusement.

_It wouldn't be that easy._


	37. Chapter 37

Shirou was quick to note the shock that spread across the lead Spriggan's stone face as he readied himself should anything get out of hand.

The others around him were murmuring distinctively; the odd sound of snapping teeth and hissing creating a disturbing sort of cacophony that was causing weariness to show not over Arturia's face, but on her body. One who didn't know her well enough probably wouldn't have had been able to tell, but he was different. He could see the way her back got that much straighter, and her mouth that much thinner.

Having been raised as a boy in her childhood, Arturia knew that in their current situation, showing any sort of fear or panic would be detrimental. Therefore, the taut muscles over her face subconsciously slackened, producing an indifferent expression that Shirou knew all too well.

The face of the King with no emotion.

He had told her numerous times to get rid of that expression, and for the most part she had. However, it would seem that in tense situations like present, her body simply reacted on instinct. Yet he couldn't blame her for being nervous.

His eyes glimpsed at the surroundings once again. From wolf-like beasts to writhing serpents, there were simply too many Phantasmal Species and Halflings to avoid any kind of injury or death, and at most Efret could only save either himself or Arturia. After all, Efret wouldn't have enough time to enlarge and accommodate for two, and he was certain that if given the choice, Efret would rather save him.

He couldn't fault Efret though, as he himself could understand how priorities worked. It was just that his priority was Arturia.

It was her protecting him when he was weak. Now it was his turn to protect her.

His forehead wrinkled as he felt Efret tense from its perch on his shoulder.

The Lead Spriggan had composed itself.

"Broken?" The lead Spriggan muttered lowly, staring at its now empty hand in confusion.

Thereafter, it turned its head to stare directly at him, its eyes scrutinizing him up and down.

"Pass," the Lead Spriggan ended up deciding after a moment of time.

This decision was made based on two considerations. The fact that Efret, a pure Phantasmal Beast was subordinate to Shirou, and the fact that the orb itself shattered. The fact that the orb shattered either meant that something had gone wrong, or that the purity of Shirou's blood was too strong for the orb to discern. In which case, the lead Spriggan decided that there shouldn't be a problem with its judgment anyway.

That said, it called for a replacement orb, took one last glance at Shirou, and then went on its way. The sound of its gruff voice yelling pass and fail echoed out into the distance, and it was only when Arturia couldn't hear it anymore that she pressed herself closer to Shirou's side in a show of worry.

He gestured for her to relax a bit.

After passing the examination of the lead Spriggan, he and Arturia were probably clear of any danger for the time being. Instead, now was the time to try to understand the purpose of orchestrating such a large-scale gathering. Beasts of all sorts had gathered en-mass towards a distant location seemingly outside of human influence. Just from the numbers alone, it appeared as if an army was being gathered.

When the lead Spriggan completed its rounds and returned to the center of the gathering, it called for all those that passed to stand on one side while dismissing all those that had failed. From there, it led everyone towards another location near the base of a valley.

"We'll meet here in three days time, the Great One is currently busy conducting business and won't arrive till later," the lead Spriggan said. "Of course, you're free to simply stay in this area as well since there's plenty of food to hunt."

Hearing the lead Spriggan's words, several of the halflings and Phantasmal Species were dissatisfied. They were fine with waiting for three days since the duration was fairy short for those with the lifespan of several hundred years, but the matter of food irked them.

They were in a forest within a valley, the type of food nearby wasn't difficult to guess. It would be wild animals and any berries or fruit that they could find. However, this type of food was mediocre compared to the diet many of the halflings and Phantasmal Species had left behind after the call to gather.

This problem was more apparent to the were-folk and carnivorous halflings and Phantasmal Species.

"Is there a human village nearby?" One of them called.

Most carnivorous halflings and Phantasmal Species hated the raw taste of wild game. Instead, they much preferred the lean and tender meat of humans. It was a delicacy and also the reason why most of the legends that spoke of beasts and monsters, targeted the nature of beasts to hunt humans.

Arturia's teeth gritted but she forced herself to remain calm.

Yet how could she allow an attack on her countrymen?

Her fingers grasped against Caliburn's hilt, but a hand stopped her from drawing it.

Currently, every Phantasmal Species and Halfling in the area regarded Arturia with respect for her blood of Dragons. However, if she drew forth Caliburn from the sheath Merlin had provided, there was no telling what would occur when a Holy Sword suddenly appeared in her hands. It was too dangerous, and even if she wanted to intervene, this wasn't the time.

Reluctantly, Arturia slowly moved her grip away from her sword, lips pursing.

The lead Spriggan pondered on the question, but it wasn't long before it shook its head. "We're too far into the valley and away from human settlement. I can promise you all though that when the Great One returns we will raid a couple villages and towns to satisfy your desires. More likely, our first target will be a human town of Bristol, something to do with the Great One and dealing with any loose ends at a place called Ashton Manor," the lead Spriggan shrugged.

Arturia's breath quickened, and she shared a silent glance with him.

It was fortunate that they had chosen this particular location to start with. If they hadn't, they were certain that Bristol wouldn't have the means to repel such a force of Halflings and Phantasmal Species.

They had to stop this before everything got out of hand.

His eyes surveyed the total amount of Halflings and Phantasmal Species around him and he made a vague estimate of their numbers. There were around several thousands from the individuals he could see from the vicinity. Far too many for him to deal with by any conventional means. In fact, he could probably launch a large area of effect Noble Phantasm, but he couldn't carelessly do so.

Even if he were somehow able to defeat this number of enemies, what's to stop more from coming back if he didn't reobtain the piece of the slate in the enemy's hands?

He would have to bide his time and wait for an opportunity before doing anything.

"No humans?" Someone grumbled.

The lead Spriggan nodded, but none dared take their frustrations out on it for it was too strong.

"If there are no more questions, then dismissed," the lead Spriggan said before its body and limbs grew stiff.

It had entered a hibernative state where it would only rouse should anything catch its interest or endanger it. Most likely it would wake up after the allotted time frame.

The beasts in the area glanced at each other before slowly dispersing, many growling lowly in frustration and leaving only him and Arturia behind.

Yet neither of the two wished to spend the night in the area with so many Halflings and Phantasmal Species nearby.

When the area cleared, only the sounds of a low whistle stemming from the still Spriggan remained. Everything else was eerily calm despite the large number of individuals that had spread out into the forest.

"Efret," Shirou called out.

Efret nodded, understanding Shirou intentions as it enlarged and gestured for Shirou and Arturia to board on its back.

The two quickly did so, Arturia remaining silent as she glanced at the Spriggan.

It was only when the two were in the air that Arturia spoke.

"We have to stop them," she said with conviction. Her determination was apparent in her eyes and it was clear that she wouldn't take no for an answer.

He nodded wordlessly as her expression eased.

"We have to think of something. The number of enemies is just too much for us to handle on our own," her brows furrowed in thought.

"Well, considering their numbers and interactions with each other," he began slowly, making sure that Arturia's attention was on him. "We can conclude that they aren't exactly a united front. Each of them probably has their own motive, and as such, what does that mean?"

He was teaching her.

In the current medieval time, there was no such thing as war tactics and strategy planning in general education. It was something only taught loosely to the upper nobility and something earned by experience from veteran generals. Yet, it was a key component that he wanted Arturia to possess. After all, the main component of war in the medieval times was categorized into three fields: The state of equipment, the number and quality of personnel, and open confrontation. It was to the point where it was tradition in a war for two sides to directly clash in a show of power and dominance. Yet there was no strategy in that and too many deaths. Additionally, such a method of warfare almost made it impossible for an army of smaller number to overcome an army of a larger number. This was where tactics born from wisdom and experience were involved.

Of course, he wasn't a war general or strategist himself, but he did come from a time where famous historical battles were studied. Somethings that he may know as common sense may be revolutionary to the minds of those in an earlier time.

"Not a united front?" she mulled for an answer, face scrunching.

"Exactly. They're kind of like loose bundles of hay held together by a single thread."

He pulled Arturia in close after Efret picked up speed and the cold night wind intensified. His arms naturally wrapped around her, securing themselves around her waist. She didn't seem to notice however, even as her body relaxed into his own, too busy pondering on the current issue.

"A single thread," she muttered before her eyes suddenly brightened. "Then doesn't that mean that we just have to cut that piece of thread?" She asked hopefully.

He smiled at her, and it was only then that she became aware of how intimately he was holding her, his hands resting on her stomach, and his back encompassing her own. Her self awareness rose up dramatically as she immediately realized that she was being coddled. Indignant as she was, it wasn't such a bad feeling.

"You're only half right," he said, leaning his head forward and resting it atop Arturia's. "Even if you get rid of the thread holding the hay together, you still have another problem on your hands. How do you dispose of those loose pieces of hay?"

"Hmmm," her mouth closed as she hummed in thought. Yet this time, she failed to come up with an answer. "I don't know." She ended up saying reluctantly, frowning at her inability.

"It's good that you know when to admit that you're at a loss as there are some things you may not be able to handle by yourself," he spoke strongly, trying to convey the weight of his intentions. "At that time, its better for you to forego your reservations about a King's disposition and ask for help. To show others your concerns and frustrations because it's only human for you to do so. In this case, you have me to rely on."

A moment passed, and it was then that he spoke again after noticing the reddening of Arturia's ears.

"To dispose of the loose pieces of hay, only fire or wind may aid you," he said.

"?" She looked up at him in confusion.

"In Merlin's words, a power so great you incinerate all, or a charm so influencing that they are swayed into a trap of your own making. In which case, I have the means to accomplish both, but not the means to contain them within a single area. That Arturia, is our current problem, and we have three days to solve it."

His words finished, it was then that Efret slowly began its descent back onto the ground.

The distance they had travelled was several hundred meters, and was substantially far away from any of the halfling or Phantasmal Species they had encountered. In short, it should be safe enough for them to spend the night without interruption or danger.

Knowing this, the tension that had surrounded Arturia gradually dissipated as she made her way off of Efret's back.

Their current location was another patch of clearing as it was difficult for Efret to land a in large area of forest without meeting obstruction. The sound of crickets and insects sounded in the night, the occasional hoot from an owl echoing within the deep foliage as the nocturnal predators began their activities.

Efret soon shrunk down into a manageable size and then perched itself back onto Shirou's shoulder. Meanwhile, Arturia was already getting ready to make camp, her exhaustion evident. To begin with, before Arkus, the werejaguar stumbled upon them, the two had already been ready to call it a night after their meal.

It had been a long day of flying, and the two were fatigued. At this point, Arturia couldn't be blamed for wanting to sleep, but he chose to remain vigilant, and it was because of this that he noticed an oddity.

A silhouette in the nearby trees.

"Show yourself!" He called out, his sudden shout drawing Arturia's attention.

She had just been in the middle of unwrapping her sleeping mat but was forced to stop mid action.

"A boy?" She called out in confusion when the silhouette from the trees entered the light of the moon.

He was tall and slender, but the muscle tone on his body was evident despite the woven layers of grey cloth he had around him. His hair was cropped short and purplish, and there was a luster around him that gave him a noble sort of air despite the plainness of his clothing. From appearances, his age was similar to Arturia's and his own.

"Sorry for spying," the boy said. "It's just, no; never mind. What are the two of you doing here, and is that a bird?"

The boy was curious about a lot of things. To begin with, living in this remote kind of area, surely, he hadn't come across any other humans before. Thus, leading to his constant flurry of questions.

"Well, our current circumstances have forced us to remain here for a couple of days. And as for Efret, I suppose you can call it a type of bird, but just don't call it a bird up to its face. It had enough being called a bird by a certain lady it hates," Shirou said, shrugging his shoulders. "Why are you here?" He asked back.

The boy closed his mouth and thought for a moment before answering calmly.

"I live here," the boy said curtly, "Just passed these woods in that direction."

"You live in these woods?" Arturia asked in surprise.

From what she could remember from the geography atop Efret's back, there were no signs of human settlement anywhere around, just a dense shrubbery and foliage.

The boy nodded his head.

"I've been living here for as long as I can remember," the boy admitted.

Shirou's brow raised. If the boy's words were true, how was it possible for the boy to be so fluent in speech and manner? It simply didn't make sense. From a common perspective, if one was raised in a forest as a child due to unexpected circumstances, the child would almost certainly become feral without human guidance.

He didn't bring up the topic however despite his confusion. Not only was it rude to do so, but the boy in front of him seemed vaguely familiar somehow.

Seeing the conversation had gone silent, Arturia continued rolling out her sleeping mat which was simply a thin roll made of straw. She was tired and seeing that the boy who had just come out of the forest wasn't of any harm, she wanted to set up for bed.

It was unexpected then when the boy gestured for her to stop.

The boy shook his head.

"You shouldn't sleep here, or anywhere in this current area for that matter," the boy said seriously, eyes narrowing at the distant trees in wariness. "A pack of wolves marked this territory as their own and they've been much more active as of late. If you sleep anywhere near here, you'll be sure to get attacked sometime in the night."

"Oh," Arturia said in surprise, rolling back up her straw mat and then glancing at Shirou for his opinion.

Wolves weren't really that much of a big deal to handle. Merlin had taught her simple spells that could ward them away in the night, and perhaps even more comforting was Shirou's presence himself. She felt unbelievably safe with him around.

Shirou stared at the boy and noticed that there was something that the boy wasn't saying.

"It's more than just the wolves, isn't it?" He inquired.

The boy's back stiffened for a moment before relaxing.

"I didn't want to scare you, but I've once noticed several monsters walking past. Some small, some big, auntie just warned me to stay away from them," the boy explained.

Shirou grimaced. Despite how far Efret had flown, there were still signs of Phantasmal Species and Halflings in the area. It was more than likely that should the boy not have had warned them, as soon as they had started a fire, any phantasmal species or halfling in the area would have had been alerted of their location.

"Then do you know of a place to stay the night?" He asked.

"Depends on how long you plan on staying. Auntie isn't really one for guests," the boy said.

"Three days."

"…"

The boy seemed to be debating in his mind. He was clever for an individual that lived in the woods, but ultimately, he came to a decision.

"Three days should be fine."

Saying that, the boy gestured for them to follow before running off into the foliage.

They followed soon after, catching up to the boy in large strides.

"Where are we going?" Arturia asked.

"The lake," the boy replied in a gentle manner. The sound of his voice pleasant to the ears. "It's safe there, lots of fruit and fish to eat."

"A lake?" Arturia mulled the answer in her mind. However, she couldn't come up with a reason for how a lake would be any safer then where they were camping previously. She made her way around the foliage, careful of any winding roots that she may stumble on in the darkness of the night.

Different from Arturia, the answer the boy had provided seemed to have jolted something in Shirou's mind. Yet he remained quiet. He couldn't allow himself to jump to conclusions.

His eyes surveyed the passing trees and his body reacted to the feel of some foreign energy sweeping over him. This lake the boy was talking about wasn't normal. From the corner of his gaze, he spotted the shadows of the wolves that he had noticed trailing them abruptly halt as if they had run into an invisible wall.

A bounded field, or was it something on a greater level?

He didn't have much time to ponder because as soon as the lake came within view a voice seemed to echo out from the trees.

"Lancelot du Lac," the voice called, soft and mellow. A sound reminiscent of a faint breeze.

"Auntie," Lancelot greeted politely. "I bring guests. They looked like they needed help and they only wish to stay for three days."

In the silence that the voice took before responding, a bewildered expression came over Arturia's face. Her experiences with magic had always been limited to Merlin's teachings. It was why she had been so captivated at the concept of the magic swords he had given and shown her in her childhood. The fact that a voice was speaking from out of nowhere was still new to her though.

"Lonely child, there's no need to mask your intentions behind reasons that sound pretty. It's my fault that you've been alone for all this time, so do as I have taught and answer truthfully. Uphold the honour of a child of the lake."

Lancelot swallowed, before slowly bowing his head. "Then auntie, please let them stay,"

The leaves rustled in the surroundings, as if in acknowledgment of Lancelot's words.

"You've always been an obedient child. Very well, you may guide them towards the edge of the lake."

"Thank you, auntie," Lancelot bowed his head once again, not noticing the shock that flashed across Shirou's face.

Lancelot du Lac, the First Knight of the Round. A future Knight in Arturia's service. To see Lancelot here of all places left Shirou slightly baffled. Be that as it may, he was quick to compose himself as he saw Lancelot lead them towards a small part of the lake covered with smooth sand. It felt even softer when Arturia touched it.

"You can sleep safely here," Lancelot said before realizing something. "It's nice to meet you both, but I must excuse myself for now. Auntie still has a few words to say to me."

Saying that, Lancelot bowed in courtesy and then left in a different direction, leaving them alone.

The soft ebbing of the lake's water echoed into their ears, having a calming sort of effect. The scenery was idyllic and pleasing to the eyes: Numerous water lilies drifting on a still lake, and the light of the stars shining from up above.

"It's actually kind of nice here," Arturia admitted in a trance, staring at the image of the moon reflected on the surface of the water. "It's like a different world."

"Yeah," he agreed as he tried to recall as much as he could about Lancelot. However, Arturia's memories didn't stem towards Lancelot's childhood, making him draw a blank.

He shook his head to get rid of any unnecessary thoughts and instead moved to help Arturia set up camp which was a quick affair. They had packed lightly after all, and soon the both of them were lying atop their straw mats getting ready for bed.

"Hey Shirou," Arturia called, rolling onto her side to face him. Her eyes were downcast and her lips pursed together.

"Hmm?" He hummed.

"I've been thinking this for a long time, and even now I still think of it after the events of that night. I-I pulled the sword from the stone. I have a duty as a King, but can a King be happy too?"

There was a tinge of doubt and disbelief in her tone. For all of her life, she had always believed that to be King was to forsake herself. Even Merlin had warned her that she would no longer be human once she drew forth the Sword from the stone.

"To be happy? Isn't the answer obvious?" Shirou sat up from his mat of straw and placed all his attention on Arturia.

He could understand where Arturia was coming from as the link he had with Saber had in turn allowed him to experience those memories too. The memories of a woman who thought herself undeserving to partake in the joys of life. He couldn't accept it.

The fact that Arturia was asking him about this was tantamount to the effects that his words had had on her on that night.

This was an opportunity. In a way, she was finally beginning to open up to him.

"You have every right to be happy. Just because you devote yourself to others doesn't mean that your own joys and sorrows must be sacrificed, and if you dare say otherwise, I'll be the first to raise a hand against you."

He gently nudged Arturia in the head as they had been lying close enough to touch each other.

Arturia grinned lightly in response yet didn't seem fully convinced. "A gentleman you are, but-"

"No buts," he shushed her mouth with a finger. "You're forgetting that in the future you're thinking about, you're not alone. I will be with you, so rest easy, alright?" He snorted. "You were far easier to handle as a glutton of a child."

She felt warm from his words. She wouldn't be alone, and perhaps that was enough. To simply have a back to lean on from someone who understood her. All her doubts and insecurities slowly faded away as a final decision made itself in her mind. Even if it wasn't the right one, she knew that she was too far gone to back out now.

Her eyes closed, and when they opened again, it was to stare fondly at the boy whose words had finally reached her.

"Shirou," she called, eyes drooping as the call of sleep grew stronger. "Let's build a Kingdom. One more prosperous than any other and where even the commoners can laugh happily in the hard times."

He laughed. "Isn't that what we were already doing?"

"Ah, is that so?"

Her breathing grew even, the soft sound of her breath leaving her lips and signalling that she had fallen into slumber.

"Sleep well Arturia," he spoke, gaze then turning to his side and towards the individual now sitting at the edge of the lake.

A woman of stunning beauty and wreathed in a flowing white dress that reached past her ankles, a sword tucked within her hands.

Perhaps one of the most important individuals during Arturia's reign.

The Lady of the Lake.


	38. Chapter 38

The Lady of the Lake was a woman that possessed a beauty that was neither too humble, nor to excessive. He had called her stunning, but it was solely due to her natural demeanor. It was breathtaking, the kind men would go to any lengths to woo and obtain.

He made to approach, but she simply raised a hand as a signal to stop him, her eyes staring fondly at Arturia and not wishing to disturb her rest. After all, he and Arturia had been laying beside each other from the moment that they had decided to sleep. His action of sitting up to face the Lady of the Lake had already caused Arturia's expression to stir and hands to reach out towards him; her head finding purchase on his lap and nuzzling against it, the soft sound of her breath comforting in the tranquility of a silent Summer's eve.

The Lady of the Lake released a soft smile, her body seeming to flicker incandescently before spontaneously appearing at a location near him, yet still directly by the lake.

He maintained his silence, knowing that it was the Lady of the Lake that sought him out and not he himself.

To begin with, he already had an inkling suspicion that something was amiss when Lancelot had left abruptly, yet only now could he understand why.

A private meeting.

It was too coincidental otherwise for the Lady of the Lake to appear as soon as Arturia fell asleep. Moreover, he knew Arturia since she was a child. No matter how exhausted she may be, she had always been a vigilant woman.

Therefore, how could she possibly fall asleep so fast?

"Isn't it because of you?"

The voice that spoke seemed to hear the question in his mind, a cool and soft sensation brushing across him like a light breeze.

"Trust, faith, and hope, her emotions at peace. When one is truly relaxed by the presence of another, how could one not fall asleep knowing that they were protected?"

He steadied his gaze on the Lady of the Lake, expression softening.

"Even if that's the case, I'm sure you've come to me for more than just idle conversation," he said getting straight to the point.

The Lady of the Lake sat still for a moment before nodding her head, long silk-like bangs flowing like a waterfall that parted to reveal an elegant yet naturally cold expression.

"You are correct," the Lady of the Lake said, lips pursing together in thought. "I am called Lady Vivian, and am the woman known simply as a sword bearer. Yet, I am also a woman of thought and vision, but I have never before seen you."

Lady Vivian closed her eyes while humming lightly, opening them once more to then stare at him, her cerulean orbs probing for an answer.

He frowned.

To be honest, he wasn't sure how he was supposed to answer this sort of a question. No lie or half-truth he could devise would be able to convince an individual of Lady Vivians prows. More so when she had just admitted to a have similar ability as Merlin, the prophesier.

He was left in a bind.

If he told her the truth of his origins, a part of him was warning him that she wouldn't believe it so easily. The kind of phenomenon or magic that could bring a modern-day person back to the medieval ages would have had triggered an effect that Lady Vivian would never have had missed.

It was like tossing a rock into a water's surface. No matter how small or how feeble the rock may be, noticeable ripples would still form over the water.

It was a law that couldn't be disrupted unless under the influence of a higher power, and in the medieval day and age, Lady Vivian was a higher power.

In the end, he could only answer ambiguously.

"I am simply myself," he said, a hand tenderly brushing off the loose strands of Arturia's hair from her face. "Someone who found himself in a situation he was unwilling to walk away from."

Lady Vivian stared stoically, her stillness making it seem as if she was simply a doll.

Clearly, she wasn't too impressed with his answer, yet she had still felt the truth in his words. It was just that he was unwilling to explain.

That didn't matter though, what did was when she further scrutinized him and her attention fell on the magic crest on his armour; seemingly explaining it all in one glance.

"You are an Ashton," she stated after a moment, a sheen of light covering her pupils. "And that's all that I need to know to understand what you are here in this area for and why I've not once heard of you."

Lady Vivian laid Excalibur on her lap, her head tilting to face the smooth reflection of the lake.

"Agatha had always been an elusive woman, pitiful even. I don't understand why she had connected herself with a prominent family of Magi such as the Ashtons, but it's more than possible that she had kept you away from my visions."

Lady Vivian laid her hands on her lap over Excalibur, her fingers intertwining together before she continued.

"Generally your association with Agatha would be grounds for various misgivings of mine, but I feel that I can trust you."

The way Lady Vivian spoke seemed to resonate with something within him.

"It's odd. It truly is," Lady Vivian pondered aloud, traces of uncertainty flashing across her face. "I can even say for certain that I trust you with the destined child; that all your actions would never lead her to harm."

Of that, Lady Vivian could be assured, he thought absently.

The two lapsed into silence, Lady Vivian pondering to herself, and he content to remain as he was.

It was only when Lady Vivian unexpectedly placed a hand over his shoulder did the moment pass, her expression quickly faltering. Her eyes first widened in surprise before her brows knit together in consternation and she pulled her hand back.

"T-The blessings of the Fae," she muttered lowly. "So that's why, but that's impossible."

He didn't speak, understanding dawning on his features.

Excalibur was a sword crafted and forged by the Fae, and yet so too was Avalon, the sheath and the Ever-Distant Utopia. He had once come into contact with both of them, Avalon itself still a part of him.

In a way, his aptitude with fairies was not low, his aura even at a similar fluctuation.

It was no wonder that Lady Vivian could be so familiar and trusting towards him. He too could be described as a person like her, one trusted by the Fae and a fellow sword bearer. He the bearer of an unlimited arsenal.

Lady Vivian composed herself, the calmness returning to her face as she seemed to then avoid the subject.

"As you are an Ashton, I can understand why it is that you've come here, more so from the fact that the lingering aura of various phantasmal species still lingers on you."

Lady Vivian brushed back a lock of her hair behind her ears, the action somehow mesmerizing, but it couldn't phase him.

"If you understand already, then I can only ask if you know anything that could help the situation," he said. "Many will die with the return of the Phantasmal Species as it is."

"Naturally," Lady Vivian nodded, her lips thinning in a solemn gesture before standing up on her feet.

"Men fight men in wars that ravage the land, and Heroes fight Monsters not knowing that they themselves may become the monsters that they slay."

"I have seen the birth and fall of numerous Heroes in my life, and you give off a similar aura to them,"

Lady Vivian paused.

"The question is, what kind of Hero are you and why should I intervene where I have never have had intervened before?"

The path of a Hero was one of hardship. A man or woman undertaking a task that was suited solely for them alone. Siegfried and the Dragon Fafnir. Beowulf and Grendel. Various epics that depicted the legend of legendary heroes carved solely by their own means. Even Theseus who had outside help against the Minitour had relied on his own appeal to charm Ariadne, solving the labyrinth in his own way. King Arthur and his legend were similar, the King fighting for a Kingdom at the brink of ruins by invaders; the Lady of the Lake merely gifting the Holy Sword Excalibur and the Sheath Avalon when Arthur had proved himself worthy.

As such, what made him different to ask for aid when he had not even proven himself?

The answer to this riddle became clear to Lady Vivian when Shirou spoke.

"I am a selfish one," he said. "A man whose only wish was to save others without need for personal gain or honours; at least that's what it was before."

His gaze turned piercing, his bronze orbs radiating his honest intentions and conviction such that Lady Vivian stiffened when she felt the Excalibur in her hands reacting. The blade shook, taking on a radiant golden glow only meant for those of the righteous.

"You asked of the kind of Hero I am, but the thing is, I'm not a Hero no matter how many individuals I save. Like I said, I'm selfish. I saved others only because it was the same as saving myself, trying to obtain a happiness I had seen at the deepest depths of my own despair."

He paused, gaze shifting down towards the girl sleeping on his lap and balling his hands into fists.

"I am not a Hero. I am simply a man who wishes to protect the only thing I hold dear while still selfishly clinging on to an ideal that will never bear fruition."

"Now I ask you though, Lady Vivian."

"Is it wrong to help others? Is it wrong to save them when no one else can?"

Her brows knit together, her lips pursed.

Was this really an Ashton?

It was the first thought that appeared in Lady Vivian's mind even as a shiver travelled down her back. The Ashtons were a group of magi that had connections with phantasmal species. Of the entire family, the only man she had met had been the previous Lord Ashton during the time of the man's youth. Humble and patient would be the last words she would use to describe him, and she had expected nothing less form his descendants. Only, now did she realize that she was wrong.

Of all the Heroes that she had known, none had been this selfless. She could detect no lies in the words spoken, and that in itself had shocked her. Could there truly be such a Hero who placed others before himself?

There was no use pondering on the issue, as regardless of her thoughts, Excalibur was already beckoning her into actions, mots of light spreading around her.

In a way, she couldn't understand why Excalibur could act so familiar with the youth before her, but she was simply the sword bearer.

She would do as the sword wished.

More so because this Hero who didn't call himself a hero had earned her respect.

"You're better off not returning to that troublesome gathering of beasts and monsters," she said softly. "I am the sovereign of this area and I know all that occurs within it. There's no need to endanger yourself and the destined child just to find out the intentions of the one leading the group. I already know it."

"Oh," Shirou released a relieved sigh, waiting for Lady Vivian to continue.

"Just as you are here to repair that slate of rock that was the key to the Ashton's artificial anchor to the Reverse Side of the World, those that had already crossed over seek to destroy the actual anchors. As such, it's relatively simple to predict the movements of your targets. This current gathering of phantasmal species is most likely going to march in the direction of the nearest anchor located in a settlement named Colchester. It's best for you to wait there for their arrival and set up a defensive."

"Colchester," Shirou grimaced.

From what he recalled of the map of Britain's current state that Merlin had once displayed to him, then Colchester was within Essex, a Saxon conquered region.

An enemy region.

Great, but then again, he'd just have to deal with it when it came.

"I'm willing to send you and the destined child there in the morning through my magic, but this is the one favour I can do for you. A Hero's ordeal is not something meant for even someone like I to interfere too excessively. At most I can only give you the locations of the other anchors, and warn you of your potential enemies," Lady Vivian said.

"That's more than enough help Lady Vivian," he expressed his thanks with a nod. "Defending a town is several times safer for Arturia than infiltrating and disrupting."

Lady Vivian released a laugh in bemusement.

"If you coddle her too much, she'll grow too reliant."

"And that's the reason why I'm here. To ease her burdens."

The two fell into silence once more, the soft sound of Arturia's breathing the only noise in the surroundings other than the gentle lull of the lake.

"Ashton," Lady Vivian suddenly called, her expression pensive.

She hadn't asked before, but he knew that it wasn't something he should keep from her or risk straining their current relationship. Besides, of the people he knew from the history glimpsed from Excalibur, the Lady of the Lake was a woman of integrity. She could be trusted.

It only helped that she already had a suspicion when it came to him after she had touched his shoulder.

Tentatively, he raised a hand, magical power igniting into a distinct blue aura.

A Sheath that stemmed from within him forming within his hands.

The Garden of the Ever-Distant Utopia.

A Haven and the Kings Final resting ground.

Lady Vivian's expression grew increasingly still, her breath growing shorter and shorter even as she unconsciously approached.

It was impossible.

Something completely out of her own understanding.

No two copies of the same relic should exist at the same time, and yet the proof was in front of her.

A Sheath made of the purest of gold, and blue enamel.

Made to look more as a decoration fit for Kings and Nobles rather than a weapon.

Lady Vivian's eyes shone with a distinct gleam. Her mind connecting the puzzles together to form a larger picture and wavering at the result. She had ascertained from the slate in Shirou's possession that Shirou must have had some connection with Agatha for he was an Ashton, but even still; in this moment, she had made up her mind.

He was too rare of a gem to waste in that other woman's hands.

For what he had created, no one else could replicate.

For no mortal should have had been able to forge it.

A product of the Fae.

Avalon, the embodiment of the King's Utopia.

* * *

Colchester was the name of the town first established in the Roman expedition and expansion into Britain. As such, many buildings created by the Romans still remained in the town even after the Saxon invasion that occupied it.

Many homes were made of brick and tile, lacking most of the huts made of thatch and straw that the poorer serfs lived in at other towns.

After Saxon occupation, Colchester had been refurbished defensively should the locals that the Saxons had driven out amass an army and attack. After all, there was news of a young King sung by the local Britain attacking Saxon settlements all around the interior grounds of the island.

Although it was just rumours to many, the fact that the ruling King that had occupied Colchester issued the creation of high walls around the city, meant that there was more to this supposed rumour than what meets the eye.

As unease began to settle amongst the new populace who had migrated from over seas to seek greener pastures, a spark of light began to emit from an obscure location within the town.

Twisting, the spark of light began to expand outwards before three individuals were spat out and left sprawled on the ground.

Shirou groaned, a hand coming to rest on his temples as he inwardly cursed the woman who had sent them here. It was true that Lady Vivian had said that she would send him and Arturia in the morning, but that didn't mean that she had to do it while they were still sleeping.

Poor Arturia didn't even understand what was going on until she was already falling out of the portal made from Lady Vivian's magic.

Moreover, he had long since noticed the addition to the party of two.

Lancelot had been tossed along with them.

The again, he already made this agreement with Lady Vivian in the prior evening after she went over a few more details about the location of the other anchors and possible threats. In terms of Phantasmal Species, she had informed him of two definite types that had crossed over back to the Human world.

The Elves and the Dwarves.

To begin, these two magical races had been flourishing even alongside humans, staying within the depths of the forests and the mines of the mountains. Neither of the two had wished to leave the Human World, but in the end were forced to due to forces outside of their own means. It was only natural that they would be bitter and take any opportunity that they could to escape. The only consolation about these two races however was that they were content to remain in their own civilizations. Once they were out of the Reverse Side of the World, they had retreated to recreate what they had once lost. The two figurative heads of the races each possessing a key necessary to repair the Ashton's artificial Anchor.

In short, they wouldn't actively jeopardize him or any innocents.

As such, the only two individuals that Lady Vivian had informed him to be wary of at present were the monsters of myth and folklore that had gathered together in groups to destroy the other world's Anchors. The leaders of these gatherings of monsters were the ones in possession of the other two keys required.

Composing himself, he stood up on his feet and surveyed his surroundings, noticing the odd stares a few people were giving.

He smiled at them awkwardly, not wanting to draw too much attention to himself and the others because they were in Saxon territory. If they were discovered to be locals of Britain, then that would make his current goals far more difficult to achieve.

In the first place, Lady Vivian had already informed him that Colchester was the target of the group of phantasmal species that he and Arturia had infiltrated into once before. A World Anchor existed within the town that stood above the fact that he, Arturia, and Lancelot would have to aid in the defence of an enemy. It was for the sake of humanity itself after all.

Groggily, both Arturia and Lancelot got on to their feet.

"W-What's going on?" Arturia said wide-eyed.

Lancelot simply remained silent, but was fervently taking his surroundings after being kept alone in a forest for so long. The sight of so many faces left him feeling speechless, yet he still maintained his composure.

In regards to Lancelot's addition to the group, it was precisely because Lady Vivian had lamented about Lancelot's limited world view. Talented as Lancelot was, Lady Vivian feared that her boy of the lake would grow to naïve left isolated in the forest.

Noticing that she was being stared at after her question, Arturia promptly closed her mouth and unconsciously shifted towards Shirou, looking for an explanation.

Shirou merely gestured for her to keep silent before prompting them to follow him to an area devoid of others. It was only then that he began explaining everything.

"Wait, then these people are enemies?" Arturia whispered, expression sour.

Shirou shook his head.

"Even if they are, we still have to help them somehow repel the coming attack of the Phantasmal Species and at the same time locate and take down the leader."

"Shirou," Arturia said bewilderedly. "These people are living here after having killed our fellow countrymen."

"And I believe what Shirou is trying to say is to look at a broader perspective," Lancelot intervened, clearing his throat. "If we don't help them, then more monsters of myth and legend will return fully from the Reverse Side of the World. No one wins in that case."

"Exactly," Shirou agreed, knowing that Arturia had the heart to put aside her differences for this kind of matter.

Expectedly, she relented. However, it didn't stop her expression from being constantly constrained. The enemies Sir Ector had told her of in her youth were the most savage and brutal of people. Therefore, even if the people she saw in the distance looked like regular serfs, she still felt weary. And yet, she knew by heart that they weren't truly bad people. Merely those seeking a future in another land and whose lives would still have their own purpose.

It was unfortunate though that they were enemies by circumstance.

Even still, she would let things go just this once.

Her expression soon calmed.

"What are your plans?" Lancelot asked straightforwardly.

"Well, other than defending being a top priority, we still have to locate the leader of the enemy side," Shirou pondered aloud. "Defending and searching will be too difficult to do simultaneously as there are only three of us, and only one stone that can identify the leader."

Saying that, Shirou pulled the stone Agatha had given him that shone brighter the closer he was to the target.

"We're going to need more than just ourselves to tide through this successfully," Lancelot said with certainty.

"Then how about the town guard?" Arturia asked, recalling bits of information Merlin had taught her. "In any town, there should be some form of garrison stationed as defence. The fact that the current ruler of this town has built a high wall will make the defence a tad easier."

Lancelot thought for a moment on Arturia's words, the education imparted by the Lady of the Lake more than enough to see the flaw in the currently offered suggestion.

"How will you recruit the town's guards and people? Without proper preparation this town will be overwhelmed," he said curtly.

They fell into silence, none of the three having any ideas.

"Regardless, we still have to try doing persuading the people," Shirou said, gaze drifting towards the building at the center of Colchester. "And the best way to do that is to enter the reception hall of the King."

Colchester itself was turned from a town into something more like a castle after the Saxons had occupied it. The high walls created around the town only made this deduction more evident. As such, it was most likely that the King's residence would be located somewhere near the center most location of the town or another building that's been heavily fortified.

In which case, Shirou had a destination in mind.

All Lancelot and Arturia did afterwards was follow as Shirou led them through the dirt-paved streets and directly in front of a Noman Keep redecorated by flowing purple tapestry. Purple itself had a direct correlation to a King.

Guard stood at the front entrance wearing armours of full plate and swords sheathed at their sides.

Almost as soon as they had spotted the guards, the guards had spotted them.

Murmuring to each other, one of the guards approached with large strides.

"Halt." The guard's voice was strong and imposing. "The King is hosting a banquet. None are to enter without express permission."

Arturia and Lancelot stared at Shirou, wondering how he could possibly be able to seek an audience with the King.

If Shirou was anyone else, he would have had been hard-pressed to find an answer. However, this one was relatively easy considering the boastfulness of his own teacher of a couple years.

"Would you're King not be interested in talking with a wizard?"

He raised his palm, a short sword appearing and hovering above it.

The guard's eyes nearly looked like they would pop out of their sockets, the man tumbling backwards in agitation.

"A-A wizard," the man spluttered, never having seen one before. At the most he'd only heard of one named Merlin.

Immediately the guard ran back to the building's entrance and entered, leaving the other guard that was still stationed outside to gawk at his feat.

With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the weapon before feeling a judgmental stare at his back.

"I thought you said a Magus mustn't so easily expose their magic?" Arturia said flatly. "Merlin was supposed to be the only exception."

He pretended he didn't hear her despite knowing exactly what she meant. After the Wizards gathering in Roan several years ago, it was decided that magecraft was to be kept in secret much like it had been in the future. This rule had been implemented for the very same reason as the previous time-line. To slow down the declination of magic by keeping the art solely to a select few. Other than this rule that stayed relatively the same, there were other rules that became implemented, one due to his own influence. Said suggestion was the need for a Magi to be up to date with technology. Words couldn't describe how beneficial it could be for a magus to locate specific items for a ritual in the future by just ordering it from the internet. Of course, there were uses, but he didn't have time to recall as the guard came back.

"The majesty welcomes you," the guard said, leading Shirou and the rest into the establishment.

Decoration within the medieval age was nothing too grand, but Kings could possess a high level of decorum. In this case, it was rather moderate with small paintings hung on the walls with dimly lit candles that lead into the inner chamber where a man sat upon a throne.

His name was Norvel Bedford, a lesser known man who had made himself King and ruler of the land after commanding in the conquering of Colchester by the Saxons.

Currently, it wasn't just Norvel who was present in the hall, but many others who Shirou could quickly assume were people of higher standing. Oddly enough, one man in the room nearly chocked on his drink from the moment his eyes fell on Shirou and Arturia in recognition.

The man's breathing grew erratic, but he quickly maintained his appearance and quietly shifted to an obscure corner of the room, watching attentively as Norvel called for space to be made.

The guests parted at Norvel's beckoning and Shirou, Arturia, and Lancelot were soon placed at the center.

"You are a wizard?" Norvel asked, a hand absently swirling the wine he kept in a bronze-coloured goblet. "You appear too young for one who doesn't even understand courtesy."

Shirou shrugged, not bothering to kneel as it would put Arturia in a difficult position. He knew that Arturia herself would never have had kneeled, so he too would not do so either.

"Age has nothing to do with magic," he said, willing for a couple swords and daggers to form in the air in the form of a wide circle.

They were dazzling, their silver gleam somehow enchanting those present, but at the same time giving them a sense of fear as they absently rotated.

This was simply a small show for credibility. He had to prove to all present that he was a wizard so that his words would have weight behind them.

Evidently, the small spectacle he had performed was more than enough, Norvel applauding without pause.

"Brilliant," Norvel said, a smile forming on the man's lips. "I assume that a wizard such as yourself would only seek my presence for employment is it not? Of course, you and your apprentices there are hired. With your magic we can kill those violent bastards waging war on us to expand our lands for the people. In fact, this is an ideal time for your arrival as this King Arthur that's suddenly appeared and sieging my allies has his own wizard by his side, Merlin if I recall."

Arturia's expression frosted over knowing full well who the bastards Norvel was referring to were.

Shirou shook his head in response to Norvel's words, causing the man's expression to grow unsightly.

"I have not come here to enlist under you," he said directly. "I've come here to aid you in a disaster that's coming to this town. A wave of beasts and monsters the likes of which you've never seen before that will arrive in no more than seven days at the latest."

This was as much time as Lady Vivian had informed him of to build a defence.

A cup fell to the ground, but this was only the reaction of one man who had hid in the corner to listen attentively. As for the rest, none truly reacted.

"Great, that's great," Norvel said laughing derisively, the others joining him. "Wizards are one thing, boy, as you have just proven it yourself, but monsters? No one's ever seen one to date, let alone a wave of them? How many would you even need to form a wave? More than an army at least."

Norvel glared, still feeling irked that Shirou had denied his services.

"Guards!" Norvel called smugly. "Take them away and lock them in prison until they can think their decision over."

Shirou didn't say a word as the guards came and arrested them, merely closed his eyes and reserved himself. He had tried and it was clear that Norvel wouldn't see reason until the army of phantasmal species was completely upon Colchester. He could only hope that at that point, there would still be time to turn things around.

Arturia glowered, expression furious as she knew full well just how many men would end up dying do to Norvel's decision. As a future King, she couldn't tolerate such ignorance, yet she quelled her anger and followed Shirou's example. It wouldn't do to expose herself do to her own fury.

Lancelot however had no problems speaking the truth, expression unfaltering as the guards led him out.

"You'll regret this," he said, voice echoing.

* * *

It's been seven days.

He didn't like it.

There was this ominous sort of feeling that surrounded Gale Tate from the moment he had recognized both Arturia and Shirou from the war he had once led in the battle of the River Glein. Gale Tate himself had been the commander that had lost on that day.

Shirou had spoken of monsters coming to lay siege to the town, and although many including the ruling King had laughed at them, Gale had never once let out a sound other than dropping his wine glass. For he had once been in a similar position.

He had been ridiculed and shunned at the end of the War of the River Glein. A prominent leader sent away and reduced to a mere town's guard by orders of his father to lay low from Hengist's wrath.

Then again, that was years ago, and no matter how insistent his father was for him to take up military command again, he had always turned down the offer.

He wasn't full of himself, just a tad weary and still stuck-up over the past to reflect on what he could have had done to change things, but regardless, only he knew the truth of the matter.

Currently, he was being persistent while facing his colleague, Jarred, a man who Gale grudgingly got along with in most cases. Jarred was an astute man whose head had went bald in his youth, leaving behind an average looking face, but with strong eyebrows.

The two of them were wearing comfortable leather armours with pieces of plate sewn at the chest for added protection. They weren't as protective as full-plate armour, but the duty of a sentry was to be able to move and notify the town at a moment's notice.

As such, it was evident that the two were on sentry duty, Jarred having higher authority than Gale do to a promotion. Thus, only Jarred could report directly to the Guard Captain without being questioned by the other guards.

This one point though was driving Gale crazy.

Unlike Jarred, Gale had been able to attend the King's court due to his special status, allowing him to hear the specific news about monsters coming. No matter how much the others had laughed, Gale couldn't deny that he had once seen a monster, and through his own intuition he wanted the town guards to at least set up a defence. He'd been trying to ever since the King's banquet ended.

Problem was, Jarred.

"A horde of monsters? C'mon Gale, has your loss all those years ago really taken away your fangs?" Jarred laughed humourlessly. "You can't possibly believe in that rubbish."

"If you'd seen what I'd seen, and heard what I'd heard, you would believe me friend," Gale said firmly, expression somber and teeth clenched. "I've never lied about my loss. Only dimwits refusing to believe what was written in the reports."

Jarred raised a brow.

"You can't expect them to believe a flaming bird suddenly came from out of nowhere and raised the entire field into a sea of flames, now can you? For fucks sake man, grow some balls and learn to eat a loss. It happens in war, and even the Young Wolf of your youth was no exception. Besides, it doesn't help your case either that you are the only one present to testify your sightings."

Gale fell silent, the loss of his loyal men that represented a select few of those that he had led on that day still weighing heavily on him just as much as the disappearance of the daughters of Hengist. If not for Hengist relying mainly on his sons, then Gale would have had been executed long ago.

As for the loss of his men, he wasn't exactly sure if they were all really dead or just captured. It had been too chaotic at the battle of the River Glein after the arrival of the flaming bird. Therefore, he couldn't be certain of anything.

"I'm not asking you to believe me Jarred," Gale said stubbornly, scratching at his hair in frustration. "All I'm asking for is that you take this issue to the Guard's Captain before it's too late to prepare."

Jarred listened to Gale's words, but it was clear to Gale that he wasn't being taken seriously.

Gale's already pointed eyes and rugged appearance was steadily growing more savage.

"Listen Gale," Jarred said dismissively, putting a hand on Gale's shoulder. "I think you need a break man. I swear some witch or something's clouded your mind in the past few day. Monster's aren't real, grow up."

Gale's lip twitched before he grabbed Jarred's hand and shoved the man with his shoulder, the clang of their armours echoing atop the high wall.

"Fuck Jarred, if you say one more word of protest, I swear that this day of next year will be your funeral anniversary!"

"Alright, alright," Jarred relented, massaging his injured chest. "It's not like the Guard Captain will even listen to this bullshit."

Expecting a counter to his words, Jarred raised his arms in defence, only to realize that Gale stood unmoving, a pallid colour draining into his cheeks.

"Gale?" Jarred called, feeling that something was wrong.

An instant later, he felt a vibration travel up his legs, a light tremble that was only growing stronger and stronger. Atop the city wall, this effect was growing more and more pronounced. It felt like the entire structure could crumble at any moment.

"W-What's going on?" Jarred muttered as he struggled to maintain his balance, a hand clutching at the nearest object for support.

Gale swallowed, beads of perspiration running down his face.

There was no answer that he could give.

No meaning in speaking.

His mother had always told him that one day there would be retribution for all the blood spilt by both friends and enemies alike. She, a woman who had actively been against war.

He'd never believed her.

Not once.

Simply knowing that without fighting, one's desires could never be accomplished.

Now though he felt like he understood while staring at those murderous eyes, the shade of a crimson red.

This was retribution.

For the abominations and beasts approaching Colchester's walls could not have had spawned from anywhere in the mortal world.

Gale saw Jarred physically stiffen, the man's expression whitening in disbelief even while Jarred frantically ran in the direction of the Guard Captain while calling out warnings.

Yet it would do no good.

Gale seemed to age a number of years in an instant.

What defense could they mount against such a force?

What resistance could they possibly give?

When all else was lost, only one memory returned to Gale's mind in his despair.

A blazing bird, and the rider that had once road upon it.

He could only hope that he wasn't too late.


	39. Chapter 39

Colchester, Essex.

Peasants stood rooted in place unable to feel any form of protection despite the hastily made high walls of wood and brick created from torn buildings and vending shops. Against a regular enemy siege, such walls would have had been enough to at least give them a sense of safety, but the current situation was different.

Colchester's walls were generally centered around the central fortifications built from when the Romans had extended their reaches towards the Isles, meaning that they extended no further. The habitable farmland and living spaces of the majority of peasants were outside Colchester's protective walls, leading to the creation of whatever defensive formation were available to the common masses.

Due to the numerous skirmishes and battles that were currently fought throughout the land, most Saxon settlers that had taken up residence in the area were more akin to a militia. Even the women who generally tended to the home and children knew how to fight if they were forced to. As such, even in the midst of war, it would take far more than an enemy siege to cause such fear to creep in the populace's eyes for they had experience.

Instead, it was a product of superstition.

Mothers and fathers had always warned of the monsters that lurked in the dark and in the shadows, killing and devouring the unaware.

Little demons that had once plagued the mind, never fading, simply buried beneath the concepts of irrationality and logic.

They weren't real. They weren't supposed to be.

And yet what was approaching Colchester, were the monsters one would see while staring out from an abyss.

The hounds that plagued the fields.

The boars that gouged and stabbed.

They were numerous, spreading out across the area in an ordered fashion that made it all the more terrifying as they neared Colchester's walls.

In their ranks was one that stood out the most. A giant of a monster nearly fourteen-feet tall and hideous, the puss filled warts that covered its pallid and wrinkled face kept shadowed beneath various animal skins used for clothing. Bear skin was worn to form a mantle, fox skin wrapped as a loincloth, and sheep skin to act as shoes, its disorderly appearance only made it appear more savage to the warriors readying themselves by the make-shift wall.

It was called Gogmagog, a muscular giant of a monster that was said to be descended from the blood of Demons. On its waist, was a piece of a broken slate, carved with shattered magical runes.

Peering across at the distant settlement of Colchester, it grinned, revealing a pair of rotting yellowish teeth that were stained black from the build up of decaying flesh.

It was never smart for a Phantasmal Beast, but luck had ended up being its greatest fortune to have had allowed it to acquire one of the four pieces of the Ashton seal and escape from the Reverse Side of the World.

Initially, all it had wanted to do was eat the flesh of humans once again and live an unhindered life of brutality and entertainment, yet the words of the other three who had crossed over with him had made sense.

Even if it currently had its freedom and had the ability to call upon others from the Reverse Side of the World, it didn't mean that its preferred life-style would be guaranteed. So long as the Reverse Side of the World remained separate from the Earth, there would never be a sure certainty. As such, after persuasion from the other three, it found itself tasked with destroying the anchor to the Reverse Side of the World that existed within Colchester; one of the oldest known human settlements even in the modern era.

It lumbered forward, its weight alone creating deep depressions into the ground, causing tremors that served to frighten the humans before it more.

It felt pleased sensing their horror, for its very being was derived from the thoughts of humans. The more fear, dread, and panic they felt, the greater the state of its existence would become.

Unhesitatingly, he called the words that would begin the siege on Colchester.

"Attack!"

They flocked together in a wave, the vanguard of hounds running amidst the swaying of the tall grass. Jarred who had once stood as a sentry guard atop Colchester's walls had immediately ran for the Guard Captain for instruction. Unfortunately, the Guard Captain had no idea what to do either and could only call for the instruction of a superior. In this case, no superior was better at leading then the man who himself had led in the original capture of Colchester before he proclaimed himself a King.

Norvel Wild Son, the current Saxon ruler of Colchester, and the man who currently stood in a daze. Originally, when he had been called by the Guard Captain, he had assumed that it was only another minor resistance from the locals in the surrounding areas, but what awaited him was a nightmare beyond his imagination.

"W-What is this?" He stuttered out, expression paling.

Numerous legends existed within the lands, most of which had stemmed from the mouths of the common peasants and farmers. Norvel himself had once originated from such a family before he gained his military position and commanding power after the take over of Colchester.

His mother had once spoken to him of the ferocious wild dogs that existed within the dark, bodies blackened and furs tinged in a pale mist, lying in wait upon barren country roads.

He had never believed them, nor the other stories his mother had told him, but now they appeared in front of him as his enemies.

The shivers that traveled down his body were masked behind the several layers of clothes he wore. He knew better than anyone that if he showed his fear, the tentative balance maintaining the composure of his men would shatter.

Yet what was he supposed to do?

Already, the towns folk outside the castle walls were screaming to be let in, but the men who were in charge of the wall gates were too petrified to comply.

The people he ruled over were screaming for salvation, but all he could do was watch silently, his hands balling into fists for he too was terrified.

In his moment of indecision, the first casualties occurred within the fringes of the makeshift walls the common masses had erected.

The screams that echoed out, deafening to his ears.

* * *

The room shook, trails of dust falling from the roof of the underground prison Shirou, Arturia, and Lancelot were kept within. The only light came from a barred window roughly one by two feet squared, and even then, the dimness of the place made the atmosphere somewhat gloomy.

Shirou sat by one corner his eyes closed as he concentrated on the dull ebbing of the stone Agatha had given him. Its vibrancy itself was hard to ignore, but fortunately its radiance was masked behind the leather armours worn over his chest lest the guards outside grew suspicious.

Then again, with the uncertainty flashing within their eyes, he was certain that they were more concerned about what was going on outside.

It wasn't until he felt a nudge at his side that he opened his eyes and shifted his attention away from the stone Agatha had given him.

"Is this alright?" Arturia whispered, body moving to sit beside him, leaving Lancelot to stare across at them from the room.

Lancelot wasn't really bothered that Arturia was more comfortable with Shirou, as Arturia hadn't exactly spent much time with him yet. At this point, they were still simply acquaintances and not at the level of the original First Knight of the Round Table.

Seeing this, Shirou decided that he would have to do something about it eventually, but not at the moment as Arturia currently had his attention.

"It doesn't matter if its alright or not," he shrugged his shoulders, somewhat conflicted as he answered Arturia's question.

He understood that by remaining in confinement that it was guaranteed that Norvel would lose several men, or worse, several hundred or thousands, but in the end, Norvel was still going to be an enemy Arturia would have to face. As such, no matter how much he wanted to save the people outside, he couldn't when he saw the innocence on Arturia's face.

There was light in her eyes, the kind born from leading a hard yet cheerful life. He didn't want to dirty it by forcing her to personally experience more blood shed. The more of Norvel's men were killed, the less enemies Arturia herself would have to order the death of due to her role as the King who drew forth the Sword from the Stone.

"What do you mean it doesn't matter?" Arturia asked, brows furrowed as she contemplated the issue. "We came here to save them didn't we, even if they were enemies."

He already knew that. In fact, it was he who had to help convince Arturia before she remembered from Sir Ector's teachings that the Saxon's were only trying to lead their own lives as well. They were simply adversaries born through the situation of the Medieval Era. This itself was the reason why he was conflicted with what to do, because the Saxons were people deserving of being saved too.

When Arturia pressed him for an answer again, in his contemplation, he inadvertently spoke out what he had been thinking.

"Because I have you to think about," he said, the sincerity in his tone forcibly shutting Arturia's mouth.

She wasn't ignorant, nor foolish; she couldn't possibly be as she was destined to become a King and lead her people towards a brighter future. In which case, it wasn't difficult for her to understand the meaning in the words she had heard, and that was why she had nothing that she could say. Instead, she could only shift her gaze away and attempt to force down the heat rising up to her face.

It was only recently that Shirou had said to her how he felt for her, and to be honest, she wasn't exactly used to the feeling of another doing everything with her in mind. Yet, when she thought about it, that was what Shirou had always done. In her childhood, he had helped teach her the things she should, and shouldn't do, always being there to protect her either through his words or actions, and it was impossible for her not to feel anything as a result.

She fell silent, her knees coming to rest against her chest as she enveloped them with her arms and waited.

Not noticing her actions, Shirou's attention shifted towards the commotion that was occurring outside the prison cell's gates.

The guards who weren't certain of what was going on outside were suddenly shoved away as a stern man grabbed at the keys hung at one side of a far wall. This man was Gale Tate, the only one currently in Colchester that remembered that Shirou and the others actually existed.

"You," Gale Tate called sternly into the cell, the aura around him composed and dignified. "Do you remember me?" he asked.

Staring at Gale, confusion appeared in Arturia's eyes for she was too young to remember the battle that had occurred that day on the River Glein. She herself had only appeared in the battle, half-way through atop Efret's back, making it even more difficult for her to recall due to her desire of finding Sir Ector, Kay, and Shirou at the time.

Shirou however did recall who Gale was. The young commander who had single-handedly led the Saxon campaign in the area near Bristol, his only catastrophic lose due to Shirou's interference.

However, Shirou remained silent, causing Gale to frown.

"It doesn't matter if you know me or not, what does is that I remember you," Gale spoke as he opened the prison gates and tossed out the swords that had been confiscated by the previous guards. "You knew that those monsters were coming, didn't you," Gale stated.

Shirou only nodded his head.

"Then you must know how to deal with them?" Gale inquired, brows slanting as he entered a focused state.

"More or less," Shirou admitted. "You just have to attack them enough times or deal enough damage to put them down before they can offer any resistance."

This was the known tactic used by many of the heroes of old spoken of in the modern times. However, different from the future, even the common people in the past had physically stronger bodies and were more magically capable. As such, it made it possible for Heroes to eventually emerge one by one from even average humans.

Gale shook his head. "That's not what I mean, and you know it. Up against those monsters, we are worth little more than cattle in their eyes. We may be able to fight if there were just a few of them, but there are far too many."

Indeed. Both he and Arturia still remembered just how many Phantasmal Species had gathered near the location of Lady Vivian and the lake. If such numbers were to be used as a basis, then it was no wonder that he could see a feeling of helplessness buried deep within Gale's resolute gaze.

"I don't know who you are, or have any reason to give you to lend us your assistance in this time of peril, but I ask this of you as a fellow human, will you help us?"

The way Gale was staring at them was as if he was staring at the last hope shining in a murky water, his every action done in an earnest plea.

Arturia was the first to struggle over the situation, her eyes glancing back and forth between him and Gale before finally settling on himself, a lost expression on her face that quickly faded.

"I will help you," she spoke out righteously, Lancelot staring at her as a result.

He had been raised by the Lady of the Lake in isolation, making him more likely to think situations out before acting in a manner that was reflective of common sense. Of course, he understood that the reason that they had come in the first place was to save the settlement of Colchester, but to actively save the Saxons was another matter entirely. It spoke of the compassion Arturia had within her, and a trace of admiration soon shone in Lancelot's eyes.

Shirou released a breath of relief. To be truthful, it wasn't Arturia or Lancelot who was having the most trouble holding themselves back, but himself. It was never wrong to save others, and it was an ideal he had always lived by.

He was nearly reaching his breaking point by the time Arturia had spoken up. Now that his King had spoken, then what was there left to hold back her Knight from supporting her?

He stood up, the action drawing all eyes to him, yet it didn't matter.

There were people that he needed to save.

* * *

The sound of splintering wood and the clutter of steel echoed out into the air, the acrid smell of blood and rust permeating within the wind. It was the first thing he noted, the pungency of it striking across his face as the screams soon filtered into his ears. Hollowed, and despaired, there was no life to be heard in them. Only the panic born from desperation driving people to clamber over each other in vain, hastening their deaths as they inadvertently trampled each other.

He heard a distinct snap behind him, and when he turned around to verify the noise, it was only to see Gale gripping his sword so tightly that the leather gloves he was wearing had torn at the knuckles.

It couldn't be helped though. The sight before them was too difficult to stomach let alone for Gale who was watching his fellow countrymen die.

A pack of hounds were attacking in the distance, the quadrupedal monsters black in colour and ethereal. They bit, and tore through the hastily made barricades set up by the townsfolk that acted as a wall in seconds. Some didn't even have to go to the extent of biting, merely charging through it, their bodies leaving glaring holes for the other phantasmal species further behind to enter from.

From where Norvel was watching, it was if his soul had left him long ago, the blankness on his face no longer able to remain hidden from his men. His final straw had been when a dismembered arm sailed through the air and landed by his feet, the limb twitching with its fingers still grasping at a torn piece of clothing.

His mind broke down then and there when he had pictured his own outcome.

He fell on his knees, his breathing as ragged and laboured as the men standing beside him, looking to him for instruction.

"Open the gates!" the peasants below continued to call.

"You can't just let us all die!"

"My son works as a warrior, let my family in!"

Shameful as it was, he and his men ignored the calls of the people, and instead cowered away towards the Keep located further behind Colchester's walls. None chose to arm the battlements or prepare any weapons of any sort atop the bastion. The only thoughts in their minds were to flee, yet even then, it turned out to be impossible.

In Norvel's hesitation, one of his weaker willed men had left the current room that they were in and inadvertently sealed it when the entrance door swung loose and its lock latched in place.

All that they could do was watch and wait as the monsters drew nearer.

Gogmagog, the leader, was a monster stemming from Anglican and Celtic mythology, its tale spread out amongst even the Saxon people.

Gogmagog, the fearsome giant of Albion, the name of ancient Britain.

It was also a name and phantasmal beast that Shirou knew through chance after encountering the spear of Corineus in his past life.

Corineus was a Hero and the founder of Cornwall.

He who slew the giant of South West England through wrestling.

By looking through the experiences of Corineus through the history stored within his spear, he was able to get an accurate estimation of Gogmagog's strength, yet he couldn't take it for granted. The longer a Phantasmal species lived, the more detached it became from the world, meaning that it grew stronger. As such, Corineus's experience may end up differing from his own.

Looking at Gogmagog in the distance, the first thing he noticed wasn't Gogmagog's ugly appearance, but the broken piece of a slate hung at Gogmagog's waist.

The Ashton magic crest over his chest throbbed in excitement, the feeling from within him prompting him forward in urgency as magical power filled him.

His presence in the past had changed things, of that he understood it long ago from the moment he had felt Arturia's warmth within his arms.

But that was precisely why he had to make sure the changes he had wrought wouldn't negatively affect her.

Ashton or not, he was partly to blame for the current crisis of the era, therefore, it was up to him to be held responsible.

If that meant taking up a duty he had no recollection of accepting, then so be it.

A hand moved towards the Magic crest on his chest by instinct, an arc of magical light extending to his palms that took the form of a magic seal.

The pact of blood, the Ashton Crest.

He discovered its function ever since he had begun tinkering with it as of late, and he unhesitatingly utilized it, a bang sounding off in his mind.

In a world hidden by dense shadow and fog, Agatha glanced up from amidst the abyss, a grin playing on her lips as she extended out an arm. A torrent of red magical energy swelled around her, a torch in the dark.

A Divine Light, stemming from a Phantasmal Beast of the Millennium Rank.

"By my authority as she who watches from the boundary, I accept this contract and will take up the sworn oaths of the past once more," Agatha's hair flickered into a shade of silver, the energy around her erupting violently, revealing the lingering chains that still bound her. "You of Ashton blood, take upon my power and show the world the true legion of monsters. The Beasts of the Blood Pacts!"

Magical energy exploded forth from around Shirou, the Ashton Magic Crest shifting from the armour and directly over Shirou's chest, grafting within him. Power the likes of which he had never had true access to was suddenly granted upon him along with the oaths that came with it.

He stepped forward, not only as Arturia's First Knight, but as the newest head of the Ashton Family Line.

They who maintained the order of the world by safeguarding it from the Phantasmal Species that sought to do it harm.

"Efret."

The call wasn't loud, nor was it commanding. Instead, it was an absolute that seemed to twist the fabrics of reality.

The air distorted, tendrils of Arclight searing the ground and forcing Arturia and the others back as they watched on in muted silence.

From the distortion in the air first appeared a beak, slim and fiery red in colour, its presence alone dramatically increased the temperature.

Pinioned wings came next, unfurled and stretched, streaks of fire running down their lengths before the talons emerged, finding purchase upon the ground in which they melted into.

Efret, the longest companion of the Ashton house emerged. Its watcher and protector.

Fueled by the sheer magical power exuding from Shirou, Efret's size had immediately returned to its normal form; the bird of prey whose wing span surpassed twenty meters, and whose gaze could reduce towns to ashes. It cawed into the air, releasing an overbearing aura that drew the attention of all Phantasmal Species in the area towards it.

Gogmagog was no exception, its body stiffening until it came to a halt.

For it knew this aura, even in the lands of the Reverse Side of the World, there were none who couldn't recognize the presence of a Millennium Rank.

Yet, that wasn't what startled it the most.

Instead, it was the pair of murderous bronze coloured eyes and the flashing of the Ashton Magic Crest in the distance.

The Family Line of Beast Slayers.


	40. Chapter 40

It was the scent of fire and ash, a smoke that billowed upon turbulent winds like the heralding of a summer storm, wretched and violent. Plumes gathered in the air, creating a thick smog that soon descended upon the ground where it obscured visibility. Pained screams and anguished cries resonated within the smoke, accompanied by the ominous clashing of steel and flesh.

None in the area could move, they were petrified, none more so than Norvel who swallowed nervously upon sighting the figure upon the bird's back while at the same time, realizing an awful truth.

Nothing of what had been said once before had been a lie.

Yet in the face of an earnest warning, he had only shown contempt.

While he and his men were trapped and cowering within the town's keep, leaving the commoners to death, only one had stepped forward.

Norvel was a leader by blood and merit, a commander that had been tasked with leading his people towards a new life in a land more hospitable than the last. Every battle, every conflict, it was to secure the future, and yet lost in the idyllic lifestyle he had adopted ever since coming into power, much of what he once was had stagnated. It was to the point where he could hardly recognize himself.

He shuddered, fear replacing itself with the hope and courage born from watching the only one who would fight when no one else would.

Man fears not any monster but only themselves.

"Ageroth, sound the horns of Saxonia!" Norvel's eyes narrowed. "Now the lot of you, break down the doors ya trembling bastards, y'all rest only when yer dead. May the Goddess Freya bless our fortunes, and Woden welcome us to Valhalla!"

The Saxons had originally been ruled individually by a number of different tribal chiefs that banded together in times of war, drawing lots to decide on the main leader. This method of governance was vastly different from the other confederal tribes around them at the time who were ruled by Kings. As such, each tribal chief was experienced in command.

Norvel was once such a tribal chief who had carried with him the honours of such a title. He had left along with the Angles of Schleswig to accommodate land in Britain, and he wouldn't allow himself to stagnate any further.

Amidst the screaming and bloodshed of the plains, a war horn sounded from the keep that caused the people of Colchester to freeze.

A low whistle, followed by a steady pitch repeated again and again.

It was a sharp baritone that passed through all in the area, igniting the blood of a people whose culture had been based on war. The believers of the Germanic Gods, the pantheon of the World Tree known as the Aesir, the Norse Gods of Asgard.

The noise carried throughout, striking the very core of the people who knew its significance. It was the rallying call, the call to arms in preparation for a bitter war that caused the Saxons of Colchester to pick up the weapons at their feet and stand at the ready. Woman clutched onto their knives, others reaching out for splintered pieces of wood and debris still damaged from the broken buildings and homes.

Pale faced, yet firm, standing up for the future that they would create with their own hands. This was the only method they knew of to make up for the sin of killing those before them to lead a better life. Otherwise, the past deaths would have had no meaning.

Therefore, all understood that they had to fight. To follow the call of the very horn that had begun it all.

Gale was no different. Initially, he had no such thoughts of facing any sort of beast or monster, not after what he had experienced in the battle of the river Gleinn. However, now was different. His people needed him, someone with the experience of commanding armies and utilizing war tactics. Although it was true that his current skills may not prove too useful in this type of battle, it was also true that it was a better alternative than charging in blindly and dying.

Like many children, since young he had always heard of the monsters of myth and folklore from his mother and sometimes his father, and inside it had always frightened him as a child. Monsters that would take him away without a second thought, eat him whole and cast aside his remains in some god-be-damned hell hole. Yet, throughout all the gruesome tales and horror stories, one thing had always stood out.

The Songs, and the Sagas.

Those that slayed the monsters.

Heroes.

It was the same for the orally passed legend of the Song of Beowulf in his homeland, or the hero of Völsunga. It wasn't only monsters who slew man, but man who slew monsters too.

It was time to begin a new Song, a new Saga.

One about the men who fought beasts, and the Hero who led them atop a flaming bird.

"For Saxonia!" Gale yelled out, charging forward to rally the others within Colchester, leaving behind the other two who had stood near him.

Hearing the sound of the horns and seeing Gale run off in front of her, Arturia felt for the first time in a long time what it meant to lead and motivate others. She could feel and see the tenacity of the people she called her enemies; they all stopped panicking and the terror in their eyes shifted into courage.

Gale was yelling in the distance, his voice carrying a weight to it that was magnetizing. Warriors, flocked to him in waves, the disorganized lines quickly straightening out to form a defensive formation to protect the women in children from the monsters that had already breached Colchester's walls. Elsewhere, she could see it as a shower of wood erupted into splinters, Norvel and his guard charging forth with warriors that had once kept the wall's gates closed, now opened.

Through it all, there was only one constant in the fighting before her.

Shirou.

He had been fighting since the start, a black bow in his hands firing off twisted sword after twisted sword as the enemies beneath him writhed in Erfet's flames. The monsters were in disarray. For one reason or another, they were staring blankly at Shirou as he attacked them, tinges of fear and apprehension in their eyes causing them to falter. Admittedly, a part of herself enabled her to understand why. She possessed what was known as a magic core, and at the same time had the lineage of a Noble Phantasmal Species, the Dragons.

She could feel it. Something that was instinctual and causing shivers to travel down her back from the aura Shirou was releasing. It was violent, like the seal over a boiling pot threatening to explode and release what was within. For a moment even, it was as if she couldn't recognize him anymore in the fluctuating energies that surrounded him, yet that gave her all the more reason to act because Shirou was still Shirou no matter what power he may use.

After all, only one thing mattered to her over the course of her current journey and adventure.

She didn't want to lose him. No, such thoughts were already too difficult for her to bear. As such, she could only grit her teeth and push on forward.

For the one who said that he loved her.

For the one who meant far more to her than any Knight.

_An ideal King must lead his people and set an example for all others to follow, but young Arturia, King's too can be the most selfish of people._

Merlin's words echoed into her mind as she watched on, her hands balling into fists. As a King she understood that her life was priceless, she alone had the ability to lead her people towards a brighter future. Therefore, she wasn't supposed to take any risks, her life too great a thing to lose before the unification of the land and peace restored. However, just as Merlin had spoken of King's being selfish, he still made one valid point.

_To act out on emotion is only Human, and King's too are human._

A breath escaped her lips, a resolve entering her eyes along with a realization that perhaps not everything that she had believed a King to be may have had been true. It was with this thought, that the reserved expression on her face that she generally maintained for her image, vanished to reveal the actual concern she was feeling.

She knew that the current state of the enemy wouldn't last forever before a counter attack would soon rear its head, and by then, what was Shirou to do alone against an army. There was a reason why quantity could defeat quality, and she knew from Merlin that magic wasn't unlimited.

Her lips pursed, wanting nothing more than to charge forward, but remembering that she couldn't just leave Lancelot behind either. In the end though, her enemies decided her decision for her when they began hurling stones, objects, and magical blasts into the sky, forcing Shirou and Efret to deftly maneuver around, but even then, it was too late. After a magical blast nearly struck Shirou in the chest, he was forced to jump off of Efret's back and down into the ground to dodge.

She charged forth without thinking any further, Caliburn drawn in her hands and leaving a stunned Lancelot behind, dazed by the sheer emotion that had been on her face.

It was one of her goals, a dream that she had harboured time after time as he had protected her again and again.

Caliburn struck forth, plunging into the flesh of bipedal monster before twisting itself free in a single motion.

It was to fight by his side, and not the way she had done so in the past. Back then it had always been him leading and she following. In fact, it was even her who had always insisted that she shouldn't be left out, that she was already good enough.

Her body shifted to the left, the clang of a claw scrapping against her armour creating sparks that lit up like tiny fire-flies in the night.

The girl who stood protected at the back, and the boy who had always shielded her from harm.

No longer.

"Pierce forward and cleave the wicked,"

The Golden Sword of the Victorious, selector of Kings, shone once more with a radiance like none other.

"Caliburn!"

The light that shot forward wasn't truly comparable to Excalibur, but the two swords represented two things entirely. One was meant to choose a worthy King, the other to bring about certain Victory.

Light like glittering dust descended down before erupting into a fiery explosion that paved a way forward, bridging a path from her to him; the emotions that were driving her actions causing her face to flush from her exertion.

It was a scene completely different from the image Shirou had of the Saber he had known. In fact, the sight caused him to pause as Kanshou deflected a clawed hand.

In a way, Saber's transition from Caliburn to Excalibur in another history may have had been the turning point for the King who had no emotions. For Kings represented the foremost emotions of humanity. Arrogancy, greed, ambition, a King embodied them all, and for Saber what she had embodied was a trait known as selflessness, a King for the people that Caliburn had responded to. Yet Excalibur didn't require one to possess the worthiness of a King. It was why Shirou understood that Excalibur could one day be tarnished and blackened under the wrong hands.

Looking at Arturia now, he reaffirmed with himself that this new perspective of her personality was something that he had to protect. No matter the cost.

Power welled within him, the energy funneling in from the Ashton magic crest and towards his magic circuits. Each breath he took released a cloud of steam, the internal temperature of his body increasing with the prolonged use of his magecraft.

He pulled back Kanshou from the sinew of the monster's bones and felt Arturia's presence position itself at his back, the scent of lavender and berries entering his nose.

It was a familiar feeling, bringing back the memories of all those nights ago.

The dangers that they had faced together, and the parting that had left him far more broken than he could have had ever imagined; the only thing left, an ideal that was simply impossible to achieve.

When he moved, she followed, and when she attacked, he made sure to stay by her side.

It was the two of them fighting together amidst a flurry of claws and teeth, burst of magical blasts occasionally firing on them and forcing them to dodge.

He grabbed Arturia from behind and pulled her out of the way just as the attack neared, the explosion sending the two flying out. Eyes scanning around him in a hurry, his body instinctively pressed Arturia towards his chest, his arms wrapping around her as his back met contact with the hard earth and they began to tumble.

A muffled groan escaped his lips, but it didn't matter to him the kind of pain he had suffered as he noticed the relatively uninjured person in his arms.

"…"

Only Arturia was staring at him with a grief that caused him to falter. She didn't say anything, merely swallowed before standing up and glaring at the monsters around. Although she didn't say anything, no words could describe the type of pain she was enduring, watching someone she cared for getting injured on her behalf.

Yet no matter what Arturia may think, she would never have had been able to understand just how much more he valued her life and well being when compared to his own.

He stood up, once again taking a position to guard Arturia's back and she his own.

The monsters around were numerous. In fact, from the moment he had fallen off of Efret's back, the majority of them that had initially rushed into Colchester were called back by Gogmagog to kill him with sheer numbers. Of course, Efret would never stand by and just watch. Instead, the constant torrents and flames incinerating the enemies from the sky were all to do with Efret.

It was because of Efret that he and Arturia hadn't gotten instantly swarmed. It was also because of Efret that Gale and the others fighting desperately in Colchester were given a temporary respite; a wall of flames preventing the other Phantasmal Species form drawing nearer erected just outside the town's perimeter.

However, no matter what Efret did and how many Phantasmal Species Efret reduced to ashes, there were just too many to contend with.

It was inevitable that eventually, he and Arturia were surrounded completely.

And yet, it was in this dangerous environment that he felt a calling from within him, born from his desire to protect the woman behind him at all costs. Even if it meant one day turning his back on his own beliefs.

Ba-Bump.

The Ashton Crest glowed with a dull light before delivering with it a burst of power that thrummed from within him.

To protect something because it was more precious than anything else.

A noble sentiment that represented fully the chivalry of a Knight, and something that could be accepted.

Blue lights began dancing around him, tiny mots that resembled droplets of water with their brilliance. They coalesced in the air, hovering while the ancient aura of the Fae permeated around, causing Gogmagog and the others to stiffen.

The Fae were a race that were literal extension of the planet, the foundations of which could not even be traced by any sort of magecraft. As extensions of the planet, Phantasmal Species had never once bothered with them due to apprehension of the power and abilities they wielded.

For Lancelot however, the feeling he sensed was different. It was almost like he was in the presence of Lady Vivian once again, sitting idly by a moon-lit lake. He was captivated.

Regardless of what others were thinking or doing, Shirou himself was more focused on the sword willing itself to materialize from within him.

One that shone with the splendor of a tranquil lake, its unfading light matched only by its counter part, Excalibur.

He couldn't understand what had drawn it out, or why it was compelling him to materialize it, but he understood moments later. It was to be given only to one who could be exalted as the 'perfect' Knight. One who could put his values aside for the sake of another, just as that famed Knight had once done.

A sword appeared in his hands, and with it, the mots of blue light gathered and dispersed in a shower of dust, heralding the arrival of a weapon made by the Fae; Lady Vivian herself monitoring the situation through long-distance scrying stood up in shock, neutrality unable to be maintained while the crows in Colchester cawed in unease.

It was a sword of resplendent blue with a narrowed blade and markings etched along its shaft.

Arondight, the Unfading Light of the Lake, sword of the First and peerless Knight of the Round.

Its hilt held firmly in hand, the very demeanor Shirou had carried changed immediately. It was a disposition of a swordsman unparalleled in his time, and a cold gaze that was unforgiving towards enemies and oath breakers.

Arturia took a step back in shock, but for Lancelot, it was the turning point that solidified a desire that had birthed itself from within him. The desire to be a Knight that would set him on a long road of bitter struggle and training.

Wherever Shirou's gaze moved, Gogmagog and the others nearby couldn't help but nervously take a step back. It was as if they were on a blade's edge, any random movement enough for the reaper to take their lives.

It was an ability that Shirou alone possessed unique to his Tracing. The ability to inherit and embody the skill of a weapon's wielder down to the last detail and habit. In all manners of speaking, what Arturia and the others were seeing wasn't just Shirou himself, but a representation of Lancelot, Knight of the Lake.

The Peerless Knight of Arthurian Legend.

The sword in his hand was held in a loose grip, the sword's tip pointed towards the ground, and none dared approach.

It was only after a moment that Gogmagog collected himself that he realized that just one man was intimidating an entire army alone. Of course, Gogmagog was quick to attribute this fact to the distinct ability and oppressive aura of the Ashton line, but he refused to believe that Shirou himself was anyone capable. If not for Efret still attacking from the air and supplying constant pressure, Gogmagog was certain that Shirou and the other ants that opposed him would be dead by now.

"Go, attack!" Gogmagog bellowed, pointing forward, certain that its troubles would end the very moment the Ashton died and Efret lost its source of power.

However, things weren't going to go as Gogmagog expected.

The Phantasmal Beast that had stepped forward, strangely paused in its steps, its eyes bulging before it toppled over, blood spraying in an arc.

In the next moment, a blade was once again held leisurely in a hand.

Arturia and Lancelot stared stupefied.

Neither of the two could believe what had just happened. One moment Shirou had just been standing there, and in the next, a phantasmal beast had fallen. The swordsmanship displayed was such that the two had trouble even trying to keep up with it. Only Lancelot seemed to understand the concept of how the technique was done because it felt oddly familiar to him.

"Y-You, how?" Gogmagog muttered, seeing that the other phantasmal species around it were now even more unwilling to approach.

Shirou said nothing, expression vacant as he immersed himself in the techniques Lancelot had honed throughout his life and until his eventual fall. Arondight was telling him something. Rather than the fact that Arondight had insisted to materialize just because of a desire to protect Arturia, it was more likely that it had to do with the young Lancelot behind him. Unlike in history where Lancelot's desire to become a Knight was fostered through a chance encounter near the lake where he was raised, in the current timeline, everything had inadvertently changed.

Of course, he wasn't the one that had gotten Lancelot to accompany them, but Lady Vivian had instead, but all the same. All that mattered was that because he ended up changing things, there was the possibility that Lancelot wouldn't end up becoming a Knight; prompting the stored memory of Arondight in his armory to intervene on behalf of its previous wielder.

From the look in Lancelot's eyes, it seemed that his conjecture may hold some truth. Yet in the mean time, he didn't want Arturia to remain where she was surrounded by the enemies along with him. Furthermore, to defeat this entire army with just Arondight alone, it was too unrealistic. As such, he already had an idea of what to do after he had engaged the enemy and adjusted to the amount of magical energy available to him through the Ashton Magic Crest.

There was no longer a need to stay where he was.

He turned towards Arturia.

"Follow me," he said simply before taking a step back towards where Gale and the others had set up a defensive perimeter. Lancelot just so happened to be in that very same area, so at least it saved some further time. With what he had gleamed from taking on the Ashton Crest, time was the commodity he needed the most.

Walking with Arturia anxiously following behind him, any Phantasmal Beast that got in his way was instantly cut down as if cutting paper. The majority of them were unable to comprehend the sheer complexity of Lancelot's future sword skills and ended up dead within seconds. By that point, none dared block his path much to the incredulity of Arturia and the others who were marveling at his feat of strength.

Possessing a Holy Sword or not, all he had been using was sheer skill alone to carve a path out of the enemy encirclement, and Gogmagog could do nothing but watch. It itself was unwilling to intervene just as much as those it commanded. After all, from Shirou it could sense not only the aura of an Ashton but something more. Something all famous Phantasmal Species were exceedingly weary of.

The bearings of a Hero, the ones that slew monsters.

Recalling of the very same hero that had once slayed it centuries back and forced it to have no choice but to enter the Reverse Side of the World, a bitter taste appeared in its mouth. The experience wasn't something it wanted to endure again, not after it had just regained its freedom.

"Regroup!" Gogmagog called.

It was never a Phantasmal Species known for its intelligence, but it understood that strength existed in numbers. Even Heroes died when besieged by many.

Answering Gogmagog's call, the phantasmal species that had been attacking Gale and the others past Colchester's walls receded back in a wave. Yet none dared approach anywhere near Shirou's sword range, making him stand out that much more as he walked.

Norvel and the others didn't know what to think of such a sight when they recalled their previous display, yet Gale was different. Shirou was the man Gale had placed a bet on that could salvage the situation, and Gale's bet turned out to be a winner.

Reaching the defensive perimeter Gale and Norvel had set up, he gestured for Arturia to wait alongside Lancelot before turning to face Gogmagog and the army of Phantasmals.

Under everyone's attention, he raised Arondight up, and in the next moment, dismissed it, the sword fading away into particles.

"Will you not just return the piece of the slate and return back to the Reverse Side?" He asked once, the aura exuding from him increasing while he drew upon the Ashton Crest's power.

He got no answer in reply. Gogmagog and the other Phantasmal Species were still desperately holding onto the dying era of the Age of Gods. It was there choice, but the thing was, even if they didn't possess a piece of the Ashton slate, he couldn't let them free. For they were monsters that feasted on man.

Monsters known for their Evil, the legend of Gogmagog itself was attributed to the Giant that hunted humans in the plains and woods.

"Speak what you will Ashton, you can't do anything in the face of our numbers," Gogmagog growled, its lumbering body sending tremors through the earth.

He only shook his head.

He already knew what he had to do.

The hand that had dismissed Arondight suddenly clasped at the air, a new sword forming.

"The Evil Dragon will fall, yet you all are no Dragons, but all the same."

The particular weapon he was drawing now was one of many he could have had used with an Anti-Army designation, however, he glanced subtly at Gale and resolved himself. This weapon, and who it represented for Gale and the others was what they needed to recover from this dark time of facing monsters.

His hands grasped tightly onto a steel hilt, the blue jewel imbedded at the center radiating a blinding light.

It was a sword that was either Demonic or Holy based on the property of its user.

"All will be separated into light and shadow."

Unexpectedly, Gale, Norvel, and the others froze upon sighting the sword. In fact, they had frozen ever since the Evil Dragon was mentioned and the elusive figure of man wreathed in armour seared itself into their eyes. It was an armour that represented the foremost craftsmanship of their tribes, woven steel plate.

Oral traditions were the main method of passing down legends and myths, but even then, only one was well known throughout the Germanic Tribes.

"The world will now reach the Twilight."

Despite never having seen the sword before, they knew its name.

For it represented a Legendary Hero of Saxonia, and the other Germanic Tribes in the modern area known as Holstein.

The sword of the Hero sung in the Nibelungenlied and the Völsunga saga.

The Sword of the Hero Siegfried.

"Balmung!"


	41. Chapter 41

The Selfless Hero, one who fulfills the wishes of others, and yet must never tread any further.

The tragic tale of a prince of the Netherlands granted the sword Balmung from the Nibulungen Family.

Siegfried, royalty of the Burgundians.

Gale and Norvel stood rooted, much like many of the of the other Saxons in the area who descended from native Germanic tribes. None had not heard of the legend of the hero who surmounted every battlefield.

He whose body was unbreakable, bathed in the blood of dragons.

And he whose devotion was unmatched.

The culmination of a series of adventures and tasks unknown yet understood by the civilians the most. For it wasn't just the kings and queens the great hero had offered his services to, no; for his service extended to the peasants and commoners as well. From hunting wild wolves and animals, to slaughtering corrupt groups of bandits and tax profiters, he undertook all without a word of complaint.

In the hearts of the common folk, much like Norvel and the others had once been, they cared not for the greatest of conquests the hero had embarked upon, but on the basis of a figure who could understand them. Wild animals hunting sheep and livestock were just as much of a tragedy for locals than a dragon was to the ruling monarchy.

A Hero wished by others.

A Hero of the People.

The man known as Siegfried the Dragon Slayer.

Gale and the others watched as a resplendent aura of energy extended outwards from the jewel embedded within the treasured sword, blue in colour and twisting into a ravaging storm.

"Balmung!"

The shout resounded, an undetectable surge of magic expanding outwards relentlessly like the battle cry of a mighty beast. The crows and ravens in the air shrieked, the swaying of the reeds and tall grass upon a bloody field marking the beginning of a makeshift fault line.

And yet, when the energies extending forth reached Arturia, Gale, and the others, all they felt was the distinct aura of tranquility.

A lull in a chaotic battlefield granted upon them by that which was holy.

_"It doesn't matter if I'm not acknowledged by anyone,"_

A voice resounded in their minds, soft and frank as the light of Balmung shone brighter, incinerating the enemies before it alongside Shirou's shout.

_"I don't mind if I'm not praised by anyone either,"_

One by one, Gale and the others swallowed, an emotion welling up from within them that they couldn't describe. Arturia and Lancelot were much the same, staring off into a vision of a memory that had long since passed of a Hero whose thoughts no one had understood. Task after task without complaint, never once fighting for something he had considered his own.

A want to take pride in one's self, and a want to acknowledge one's self.

It was something that all could comprehend, yet was always out of reach for the Hero of the Nibulungenleid.

To stand on the side of what he had believed in.

For the love, justice, loyalty, and benevolence he had laid his life down for.

_"The sword will swing once more."_

A final image appeared. The sight of the Hero's death; a dagger plunging into one's back and the depth of the regret found within the assailant's eyes. The hero who died by the wishes of others to stop a war from beginning, and the friend who had no choice but to follow through with it.

The vision disappeared, coinciding with the figure now wielding the treasured sword of the Nibulungen.

A Hero of Justice still the same in life and in death.

Gale, Arturia, and the others, were stunned into solemnity.

Elsewhere, a reptilian eye closed.

The Evil Dragon of the Nibulungenleid Saga falling into a moment of silence, not out of contempt or disdain, but out of respect. Its wings uncurled, thick black leather flaps expanding outwards from the depths of a cavernous cave as pillar-like limbs supported a gargantuan body.

With every step, the ground trembled, droplets falling down from hanging stalactites which rippled over the pools of water below. Gleaming silver and gold coins then fell like a waterfall, rubies, sapphires, and emeralds glittering in the dim light reflected off of the cave's uneven walls.

Fafnir opened its fiery eyes abruptly, wisps of steam exiting its maw before its gaze shifted towards its unassuming visitor, a raven.

It wasn't the first time the raven had visited Fafnir's new dwelling he had accommodated in the distant mountainside, but then again, he hadn't been very keen on placing much emphasis on the familiars of magi in the first place. Not when their feeble magics couldn't even pierce the durability of its highly magic resistant hide.

However, the gaze he used to stare at the raven in the current occasion was different.

Not only was Fafnir able to sense the presence of the sword that had once slain him in legend, but it was also clearly able to feel the very moment Gogmagog's life extinguished.

This alone was warning enough just as much as the dull magical pulsations of a piece of the Ashton slate he kept on his person. If this was the case for him, then it was probably the same for the other two still in possession of the other fragments. They were probably panicking at this point as they may never have had considered an Ashton to still be living after the Ashton Massacre.

It was a heavy blow, but unlike his compatriots, Fafnir was of the mind to maintain his composure despite the emergence of the very sword that had once slew him before; the mark of which was readily apparent on his chest, an azure runic insignia in the shape of a cross where Balmung had pierced him prior.

The memory was a bitter one, yet it was all the more reason why he finally conceded out of caution.

Staring hard at the raven, an odd light flashed within Fafnir's eyes, but in the end, he still nodded his head, beginning the start of an unlikely partnership built on benefit.

* * *

By the time Balmung's light receded back within the jewel of its hilt, Shirou turned around to find the vacant and stunned expressions of Gale and the others.

Balmung wasn't just some sword in the eyes of the people of the Germanic tribes, but was instead an object that represented something more. The strength of the hero they believed in to help tide through the tough phase of rebuilding in Colchester. This was the very reason he had brought it out from his arsenal of swords.

For its meaning alone.

Unknowingly, a connection had been made in the moment he swung Balmung. A resonance born from protecting the natives whose belief in their hero manifested a miracle created through Faith, an energy that touched upon the boundary of Gods.

A final message that conveyed the dying thoughts of one of the world's most renowned heroes.

Clank, clank.

The sound of swords, knives, bows, daggers, and even armours resounded throughout as every Saxon present for the battle dropped their armaments and bowed. Warriors, hunters, Kings, Saxon aristocracy, and commoners, social standing didn't seem to matter at the moment. Only Arturia and Lancelot stood rooted where they were, standing out amongst an entire crowd of people.

He didn't know what to say at the moment, rather he was never one to like being the center of attention. This trait reflected even in an alternative version of himself whose moniker as an ally of justice ended up being the Nameless Hero recorded within the Throne that sits outside of the world. However, the subtle disposition he had inherited from the selfless wielder of Balmung, supplied him with what he needed to say.

Siegfried was a man of little words, yet each word was always concise.

His arm raised, a shout echoing out within the open plains no different from the ones of the Saxon homeland.

"Victory!"

It was a shout filled with a mysterious power to move others.

Staring at him, Arturia felt a shudder of exhilaration travel down her back. She was supposed to be the King of the people who wanted to drive back the Saxon invasion, but standing amidst them where resounding cheers spontaneously broke out, she didn't know what to feel. The noise was deafening, filled with a vigour no different from the one rising from within herself.

Enemies or allies, it didn't matter at this point.

The feeling of victory was always the same, and something she hadn't experienced in a long time after several grueling years of training. Moreover, the valiant image of Shirou standing before her and everyone else was engraved in her mind, filling her with a sense of pride.

That was her Knight.

That was her man, the one who loved her.

Unknowingly, a tenderness made its way onto her face as she stared at him; a dumb smile making its way over her lips as she beamed, ignorant of how beautiful it appeared to others.

As for Lancelot, the current situation caused his hands to ball into fists in excitement, his shoulders trembling. The swordsmanship he had seen earlier, the aloof disposition of a peerless knight, and now the glory of victory itself made his desire to be a knight skyrocket. Besides, from the moment he saw Arondight, he felt the oddest sort of connection with it, like it was somehow calling to him.

At the moment, the image he had preserved of Shirou wielding Arondight solidified itself in his very being as the goal he would one day catch up to.

Gale and Norvel wanted to speak, but no words could be produced from their mouths. Only gratitude remained and a burning passion. They didn't know what connection Shirou had with the Hero Siegfried, but the fact that he could wield the sword of their hero was more than enough for them. In fact, wild theories of a secret love child between Siegfried and his wife Kriemhild were quickly sprouting. How else could they explain the image of Siegfried they had seen?

In which case, didn't that mean that the person Norvel had once barred within a prison was, in fact, a royalty of his homeland? Norvel's expression darkened in shame, unable to reprimand the gazes sent his way from the others that had attended the banquet in which he acted so irrationally.

Gale on the other hand was moments away from thanking the hero that had saved them without a single word of compensation, but faltered near the end. Recalling it now, it was just like the legend once told to him by his mother regarding the Hero of the Nibulungenleid.

Without word of silver or gold, nor favour or promise, a selfless and noble prince of the Netherlands.

The resemblance between the hero described in the saga and Shirou were now apparent for Gale to see, yet it made things all the more confusing. If Shirou really was related to Siegfreid, then why had he fought on the opposing side in the battle of the river Glein all those years ago?

Gale smiled wryly. Perhaps it was simply something that was asked of him. Siegfried himself had a notorious reputation of being unable to refuse earnest requests.

Staring at Shirou, all kinds of thought were playing through the Saxons minds, but what they couldn't convey in words, they conveyed in actions.

They fell to their knees, bowing their heads low after all the cheering.

And just like that, as if in an act of magic, a swirl of unfathomable energy wrapped around Shirou, Arturia, and Lancelot, and obscured them. When Gale and the others eventually looked up once more, the three had all disappeared, leaving behind only the billowing of the wind over a still plain.

Gale took a breath before sharing an astonished look with Norvel as the crowd of Saxons began to murmur amongst themselves amidst a partially destroyed settlement. All forms of talk proliferating the beginning of a new Saga.

A beast slayer that had come and gone like the wind, the Saga of man and beast to be told for generations to come.

* * *

Flattered as Shirou may have had been if he had discovered what was happening in Colchester, he was currently too busy staring into a pair of unblinking azure orbs to care. He was back within the forest by the lake, thick vegetation and flora spanning on for miles on end with the scent of woodlands permeating in the air.

Lady Vivian, the Lady of the Lake had unexpectedly whisked them away at the conclusion of the battle, Arturia and Lancelot left elsewhere as Vivian personally met up with him.

The Lady of the Lake, the woman who bestowed Arturia with the Sword of Promised Victory, the very sword held in the woman's hands stared intently at him. She was the person who had always been in the background of Arthurian Legend, and it was her who had secretly helped drive things forward.

"You, how did you do that?"

It was the first question the Lady of the Lake asked. Her eyes were like mirrors, clear pupils that seemed to see through any deception. She was still in the process of contemplating over the sudden emergence of a _second_ Excalibur when another copy of Arondight suddenly manifested as well. If not for the fact that she had been closely monitoring the events occurring in Colchester, she wouldn't have bad been able to believe what she had seen.

From out of thin air, a construct of the Fae, peerless amongst all other mortal-made weapons materialized seemingly without any effort on the caster's part. That alone was impossible since weapons made by the Fae couldn't be reproduced unless the forger himself had a thorough understanding of Fairy-type craftsmanship.

It was _not_ something a human should have had known.

Suddenly questioned so insistently by Vivian, he wasn't certain of what to say at first. After all, he could be truthful and divulge the secret of his magecraft, but that would only make the situation worse. As far as Lady Vivian knew, Arondight, Excalibur, and Balmung could be the limits of his power.

Should she know that it wasn't even the tip of the iceberg, he feared that she may take more drastic actions as the weapons he could create had the potential to directly impact the world. There was a reason why Lady Vivian was tasked as Excalibur's sword bearer. It wasn't a weapon meant to be used in any ordinary situation. In fact, if Lady Vivian discovered that he could reproduce copies of Excalibur like a cheap bargain sale with a high enough surplus of energy, she would probably be unable to maintain her composure.

Therefore, he had to think of something else to convince her and it came in the form of a sheath known as Avalon from within him.

He wordlessly willed an aura to exude outwards, causing Lady Vivian to stiffen visibly.

"T-This feeling," she stuttered out in peculiarity.

It wasn't the presence of Avalon itself, but the properties of those that had made it.

The aura of a Fae.

"A Fairy?" Lady Vivian said in befuddlement before shaking her head. "Impossible, still it would make sense then how you could create the treasured swords, but even Fairies have strict requirements to craft them. Who are you really, Ashton?"

He didn't answer.

He didn't have to as Lady Vivian fell into a contemplative silence. Her eyes narrowed, in suspicion, and yet she didn't bring up the matter in favour of regarding him intensively.

"You are an anomaly," Lady Vivian eventually said. "I had ignored it before, but I fear that I must ask it now with the capability you have had already displayed."

The indifferent expression in Lady Vivian's eyes caused him to feel distinctly uncomfortable even as she voiced her question.

"Why are you with the destined child?"

Lady Vivian was a type of divinity that stemmed from the lake and the Fae. To a certain extent, she could see glimpses into the future on a far better scale than Merlin's prophecies. It was why she knew of Arturia and had even raised Lancelot to aid her. And yet, as she stared at Shirou, the future she had seen had grown blurred. She hadn't been too concerned about it before, but now it was different.

She didn't show it, but she was troubled, and this was a direct result of the most recent event. The appearance of another object identical to the Last Phantasm in her hands and a sister copy of it. Only one weapon designated as a Last Phantasm should ever exist in the world, and yet for a moment in the past, two had existed.

It broke the very balance.

Staring at Shirou, she couldn't see the future he would bring, but her powers were enough to indicate that he may be the root cause of a divergence already in play.

Dangerous.

Solely for the unpredictability that Shirou represented.

At this point, she wasn't even certain if the changes he would make could prove beneficial. She had already tried to divinate him, but she ran into interference; the magic seal of that woman trapped in the shadows between worlds, hindering her.

It was frustrating.

"Well?" She pressed for an answer.

"Because she is important to me," Shirou said without pause.

The simplicity of his answer left Vivian internally shocked, but it wasn't the answer she wanted. What she really wanted to know, was another thing entirely.

"Is that really your true answer?" She asked in the silence of the evening.

With her divinity, she could feel that there was more to Shirou than just the Ashton magic crest and the aura of the Fae. A foreign energy seemed to cling to him. An energy filled with a tremendous potential. Something powerful, and beyond even her scope of knowledge.

It was the energy left behind by that which had sent Shirou into the current timeline in the first place. The workings of a miracle that transcended time.

"My answer doesn't change," Shirou said truthfully. "She is the woman I would fight the world for."

Lady Vivian paused, not moving a muscle as she felt that Shirou wasn't lying to her. But he was human, a race known even to lie at the face of death if it meant saving their own lives. Thus, should she attempt a test?

Throughout all legends, heroes would always be put through various tests, Hercules and the labours, Theseus and the labyrinth, the current situation should be no different.

As soon as the thought surfaced in her head, it wouldn't leave her. With a test, she could verify everything. As long as she could better understand Shirou stance and what it entailed for the destined child, then everything should turn out okay. She knew that it probably wasn't in her nature to do so, but for the sake of the future, she resigned herself to follow through.

In her period of silence, Shirou had taken it as the end of the conversation and was in the midst of leaving, yet her voice stopped him.

"I don't believe you," she said coldly. "If she really means that much to you, then what would you do if I replaced her? Destined child she may be, but it's still within my means to alter the course of the future by picking another. You best choose your words wisely."

His back stiffened after he had heard her words.

"Would you be so ruthless?" His hands balled into fists.

Lady Vivian's silence was enough of an answer.

"Lady Vivian," he said forcibly, his body shifting around.

No longer did he carry any airs of amicability or patience, instead, anger had shifted his expression into that of a dull monotone.

It was the feeling of a blade's edge.

Despite the sovereignty Vivian had over the area, a part of her was beginning to grow unsettled. More so when she felt a prick along her finger and glanced down to see the droplets of blood drawn from Excalibur's edge as if it _disagreed_ with her behaviour.

Her brows furrowed.

"A sword of the righteous," Shirou spoke, gaze blank as if he could understand Excalibur's actions. "One that brings certain Victory and is the strongest of all Holy Swords."

He paused, before making direct eye-contact.

"It's the light that shines at the end of the world. Would it stand for its sword bearer to resort to underhanded means?"

Excalibur seemed to thrum with his words, a golden glow suffusing its form. Lady Vivian's lips pursed as her expression grew serious. She understood what was occurring, but it made no sense.

It can be said that all great swords, Demonic or Holy had sentience. That which allowed a sword to find its destined wielder to carve out its legend.

_An empathy between swords._

That which was right, and that which was wrong.

Had she truly erred in her decision to test him?

Regardless, she couldn't take back the words already said.

She maintained her silence as a result, watching as Shirou stretched an arm forward expressionlessly, judgingly.

"You are virtue," he said softly, a sword appearing from out of nowhere and planting itself into the ground.

The light of its blade reflected the moon above, lengths of blue and gold running up its shaft and converging near the pommel. Its gleaming silver base was etched from a sharp metal, creating words no mortal could ever understand. Letters of the Fae. A Divine construct created not from human hands.

The expression on her face sank, her lips parting subconsciously as her mind tried to protest what her eyes were seeing in front of her for the second time. But even then, it was yet to end.

"You are tranquility,"

His voice sounded again, and subsequently, another sword erected itself over the ground. Sturdier than the last, and sparsely decorated. It was a sword that could be described as heavy yet elegant, a sister sword she knew all too well.

But it was impossible.

Her hands balled into fists as the way she regarded the human in front of her changed abruptly.

"And you are the bearer of the Last Phantasm, but Lady Vivian," sharp eyes, cold and unfeeling, something that should not have had belonged on a normal human. "There are things that you can do, and things that you can't do even if your intentions are in the right place."

For a moment, it was as if she were staring at a vast armoury; all kinds of weapon stored within, and any single action on her part, threatening to unleash them all against her.

It was a stifling sort of sensation despite her status as the sovereign of the lake.

After all, weapons existed that could slay immortals.

"I mean no harm, and in fact I may prove to be a considerable asset should we remain cordial, but alternatively," his expression finally shifted, revealing the anger welled up inside. "If you _dare_ imply of threatening her again, I may become your greatest enemy,"

A final sword was stabbed into the ground, the most pristine of all, and the one Vivian was the most familiar with.

She could no longer speak at this point, let alone react, her eyes dilating.

"It was a pleasure speaking with you, Lady Vivian, but it's time for me to take my leave. Goodnight."

A voice filtered into her ears, but she could hardly care about it even when the rustling of the shrubs alerted her of Shirou's departure in the area she had taken him to.

Tentatively, she stood up, arms trembling as she reached out for the swords left behind for her.

There was no mistake.

From the aura, to the make.

Everything was the same.

The unfading Light of the Lake.

_Arondight._

The Sword of Revolving Victory.

_Galatine._

And the Holy Sword that Shines at the End of the World.

_Holy Sword Excalibur._

She released a breath she didn't know that she had been holding, yet at the same time, a resolution appeared in her expression that wasn't there before. Turning around, she directed her attention to the inconspicuous rune that had planted itself discreetly over the lake as Shirou had been talking. One that was filled with a bloody savageness that Lady Vivian had not dealt with in decades and something that she would rather not deal with period.

Unfortunately, due to the claim that a certain vile woman had left on Shirou in the form of command seals on his person, Lady Vivian had no choice but to act. The importance she had placed on Shirou had magnified several folds with his one action, and as such she couldn't possibly leave him under the guidance of such a disgustingly tainted woman.

As she completed this thought, a distinct figure formed from the shadows stemming from the rune over the lake, a bewitching smile adorning a pale face.

"We need to talk, Agatha," Lady Vivian said abruptly sensing the woman behind her. "He isn't someone that should be bound by the Ashton laws. You should understand what fate awaits him at the end of this path of reforming that slate."

"Indeed, I do," was the vexed response. "But perhaps some things aren't set in stone."

* * *

Elsewhere, Shirou slowly made his way towards where he felt Arturia to be. He wasn't certain of what Lady Vivian would do from now on, and wasn't sure if he should take Arturia away from the area as soon as possible or not. Then again, he may have had acted slightly impulsively, making any future developments his fault.

The thought alone caused him to frown uneasily fueled more so by the fact that no matter where he went searching, he wasn't able to find her.

A sinking feeling took root from within him as the consistency of his breaths grew uneven in his anxiety.

Had Lady Vivian already acted and taken Arturia away somewhere?

The plausibility of such a thing happening weren't zero, making him gradually grow desperate. If Lady Vivian wanted to hide Arturia from him, then he knew that it would be impossible for him to find her. Lady Vivian was connected to the world itself much like fairies which were extensions of the planet. It didn't help that he was currently in Lady Vivian's domain.

Fortunately, it wasn't the case of Lady Vivian hiding Arturia as he had found her eventually in another part of the area opposite from where he had talked with Lady Vivian by a lake. She and Lancelot were standing near each other and talking, the contents of which he didn't care about as his sight focused n her alone.

Desperate as he was, the relief that flooded him when he saw her caused him to act out in reassurance.

He pulled her in close, a hand cupping the back of her head before gently pressing it to the groove of his shoulder. The intimacy of the action wasn't lost on Lancelot who stood nearby and in a show of his integrity, he left without another word, leaving only Shirou and Arturia alone.

Almost immediately, Shirou felt Arturia relax, her self-awareness flaring in Lancelot's presence, yet receding now that Lancelot was gone. Tentatively, her arms wrapped around him despite feeling that something was off with the situation. However, the trust she had in him, and the budding feelings of love from deep within her prevented her from giving voice to her thoughts.

Instead, all that her mind cared about was the way she could feel a slight tremor travel through Shirou's body.

"What's wrong?" She asked.

In response, the grip around her tightened, pulling her in closer as she could feel his fingers tenderly running over her hair as his gaze stared up at the glowing stars above.

He recalled the scene of a particular night, staring up at the same sky while holding her in his embrace, a choice to be made, whether it was a mistake or not. In the end, all he cared about was still her, the woman in his arms.

With this trail of thought, and the results that may occur at the expense of his actions, he could only resolve himself for a future even he couldn't predict.

"I think I've done something I shouldn't have," was all that he said, his voice hesitant, vulnerable even.

It was unexpected then when Arturia pulled back, staring at him in the eyes with an affection that was impossible to hide.

"Even still," she said slowly, glancing at the ground as her cheeks flared red.

It was something she had thought over for numerous years, what she wanted to do both as a King and as her own person that Merlin had sent her out with Shirou to discover. An answer that she could believe in expressed only in a simple sentence.

"I will stay by your side."

That was enough. It had always been enough.


	42. Chapter 42

By the time the morning came and the sun rose overtop the forest canopy, he was already tending to a fire he had lit the previous night to keep warm. The embers produced from within the dull orange timber crackled and popped, the noise waking Arturia up from where she had slept on a pile of grass and leaves that he had helped gather for her.

She yawned, stretching her fingers out as her arms rose above her head before gradually falling.

"Sleep well?" he asked, poking at the flames with a stick before tossing in more tinder and glancing up at his companion.

She stared at him as her lips thinned into a worried glower, eyes narrowed.

"Better then you," she quipped before sitting up and re-braiding her hair which had gotten untied in her rest. "Did you even sleep at all?"

He startled before sighing, moving away from the fire to sit beside Arturia and rummage through the supplies in their bags.

"More or less," he said after a moment, procuring the necessities necessary for breakfast and not saying much else.

Arturia frowned at his response, knowing that he was lying from the bags that had formed under his eyes, but not calling him out on it. Instead, she simply grew wearier on his behalf, the way she was looking at him becoming more concerned by the moment.

Finally, her lips pursed before she decided to confront him on the issue.

"Last night," she began, brows furrowing as she called out to him. "What exactly were you looking at to be so fixated? No monster or enemy should be able to get near here with Lady Vivian's protection."

He stared at her after she had finished speaking, watching the way her arms adamantly crossed around her chest as if she wouldn't accept anything but the truth. Unfortunately, her words made it even harder for him to admit to the problem since it was Lady Vivian herself who may be out for him. In hindsight, threatening an Elemental, especially one as renowned as Lady Vivian, probably wasn't the best of choices.

Therefore, how could he be willing to explain that his caution had prevented him from sleeping in favour of watching guard in the direction of the Lake?

The answer was simple, he didn't.

He shook his head at her whilst sticking a skewer of roast meat and vegetables he had just finished cooking in front of her nose to placate her.

"If you think your attempts are going to work, they're not," she huffed, yet the way her eyes locked onto the offered food clearly betrayed her interest. More so when her mouth was involuntarily opening and closing as she swallowed.

Unfortunately, her adamance regarding the previous night's matter wasn't swayed. She firmly held herself back regardless of how he tried to coax her. Eventually he sighed and turned around, propped the skewer by the fire, and then made his way to sit across from Arturia only for his expression to flicker; hers tinging red with the obvious discoloration of her cheeks.

"Did it taste alright?" He asked calmly in a deadpan, staring from Arturia and then to the partially eaten food on the skewer.

She flushed almost immediately, wiping the lingering oil that glistened over her lips and the edges of her mouth with her sleeve before flustering.

"Whatever you're thinking…Y-You're mistaken," she stuttered, a hand flailing before pointing at him in accusation. "A-And don't try to change the topic. It won't work."

He clicked his tongue.

She remained stubborn.

"What are you so concerned about anyway?" She questioned in his silence, tilting her head closer insistently. "It doesn't matter what it is, I can help."

He stared hard at her, and she at him without blinking before he eventually conceded, giving out a partial truth and unwilling to elaborate.

"The future," he said.

The area momentarily turned silent, a breeze rustling the leaves as Arturia's brows contorted indignantly.

Noticing how she was about to speak out in retort he immediately stuffed a bun of bread in her mouth, forcing her to chew heatedly before speaking, and by then, he had already moved away.

She huffed at him in annoyance while pulling the larger portion of the bread from out of her mouth. She could see that his reluctance was due to his concern for her and therefore, it was fine for now. Besides, she could just find out later when he was less guarded. Thinking so, she glanced down demurely and nibbled on her food, relishing in the sweet yet salty taste as she drew her legs in to sit more comfortably.

It was nostalgic. The outdoors, watching him cook, and the way he always looked out for her, unmistakably bringing a tender warmth to her heart.

And it was exactly how they passed the morning until Lady Vivian arrived accompanied by Lancelot.

Shirou tensed almost instantly, a weariness flashing through his bronze gaze that he hid discreetly from Arturia's view.

"Lady Vivian," he greeted cordially before then nodding towards Lancelot.

Different from before, Lancelot now held a sword in hand, and based on the blisters formed on his palms, he must have had begun practicing.

A good sign.

Lancelot would one day become that famed Knight second only to King Arthur.

Hearing his greeting, Lady Vivian remained neutral, staring at him without blinking and causing both Lancelot and Arturia to realize that there was something wrong. He on the other hand met her gaze with his own, his resolve unshakable.

"Lancelot," Lady Vivian called out softly.

"Yes?" Lancelot stood at attention.

"Will you not go with our young friend here to exchange sword techniques?" Lady Vivian gestured towards Arturia with a delicate hand while lecturing. "One can not improve without thorough tempering."

Lancelot stared peculiarly at Lady Vivian, yet acceded to her request due to the respect he had for the woman who raised him. Thus, he turned to stand across from Arturia.

"If you'd be so kind," he beckoned with a glint of anticipation and competitiveness.

In response, Arturia hesitated. She could tell that Lady Vivian wanted to discuss something alone with Shirou, but at the same time, she'd been with Shirou long enough to detect how tense he was at the moment. However, with Lady Vivian's character, Arturia convinced herself that Lady Vivian wouldn't do anything untoward against him. Otherwise, Arturia would never forgive her.

"Is that a challenge?" She responded candidly to Lancelot. "Because you'd be too naïve to think of defeating me at your current mastery."

Lancelot raised a brow before moving away and beckoning for Arturia to follow. "The blessings of the lake will be with me. You need not worry too much unless you wish to be defeated in front of your friend," he responded.

Arturia bristled at the provocation and mutedly followed, her lips thinned.

When Arturia and Lancelot got far enough away, Lady Vivian sighed, her blank countenance shifting to something more amicable while regarding Shirou.

Wordlessly, she gave to him the copies of Excalibur, Arondight, and Galatine which he had previously traced as a show of his strength.

In his hands again, he promptly dismissed the traced swords, watching as Lady Vivian's eyes never left the process. Only when the swords were completely gone did Lady Vivian speak once more.

"You really are quite unique Ashton. No matter how I analyzed and compared those swords, they were genuine. From the craftsmanship to the make, they were all the same," her tone was flat, but the rigidness of her body conveyed the gravity of the matter.

Of course, Lady Vivian would find everything identical about the swords though. His Tracing process relied on replicating everything about the original and reforging the blade using the same techniques. In Arondight, Galatine, and Excalibur's case, this meant Fairy-made blacksmithing.

Something impossible in Lady Vivian's eyes especially in regards to Excalibur, a Last Phantasm. It was theoretically impossible for two to exist, and yet when she had scrutinized the traced Excalibur, two Last Phantasms resided in the same plane of existence.

Did that not mean that her duty of safeguarding the Sacred Sword would be meaningless should Shirou simply make and distribute other copies of it?

The thought itself kept the Lady of the Lake just as guarded towards Shirou as he had been of her in the previous night. Though perhaps there was a reason he could recreate Fairy-made armaments.

"The presence of the Fae resides within you," she discovered in surprise upon closer inspection of him. "Granted, Lord Ashton was a similar existence to myself. His kin should at least possess some similarities."

He raised a brow at her low muttering, able to distinguish her words due to his reinforced sense of hearing and subsequently growing confused.

It was Lord Ashton again.

Regardless of what supernatural problem he was facing, every phantasmal entity he had faced in the current era always knew Lord Ashton and the Ashton family. Who were they? The answer was something he had partially glimpsed when he had tapped into the Ashton magic crest at the battle at Colchester. They were a magus family whose research delved into phantasmas, Lord Ashton himself an individual who actively hunted them to reduce their influence on the world.

As he contemplated, Lady Vivian had long since come to a decision regarding him after a heated debate with Agatha.

"Here," she said, placing a hand within her garments and producing two pieces of a broken slate, stunning him as the stone Agatha had given him shone with a brilliant red-luster.

Two more pieces of the Ashton slate fell into his hands as he stared dumbfounded at them in disbelief.

"Take them as an apology for my earlier behaviour," Lady Vivian said before sighing. "I was not able to procure the last piece due to the slyness of that Evil Dragan residing within a den outside the influence of my domain of water. You will have to defeat Fafnir on your own. As for the other two, it was their ignorance to attempt to face me within the confines of a lake or a swamp."

Gratified as he was that someone on Lady Vivian's level had moved on his behalf, he still couldn't understand her motives.

"Why?" He ended up asking.

Her clear pupils glanced up at him before she simply shook her head, unwilling to explain that it was part of an agreement she had come to with Agatha. Thus, she ignored his question by giving him a warning.

"You will understand later Ashton, that this slate you seek to complete may not be as simple as you imagine. Now call back the destined child. The longer we dally, the more time the Evil Dragon Fafnir has to prepare."

Lady Vivian would explain no more, promptly gesturing towards Lancelot and Arturia in the distance to come over.

Hard as it was for Arturia to imagine, she had very nearly suffered a loss at a novice practitioner's hands. Admittedly, she had underestimated how skillful Lancelot was with a sword and had been caught unprepared when he parried against her. Naturally, her self-esteem had taken a minor blow that was only gouged deeper when she noticed the satisfaction in Lancelot's eyes.

As soon as she arrived and stood beside Shirou, Lady Vivian closed her eyes and whisked them away with a spell, leaving Lancelot behind who stared openly at her.

"Do not fret child of the lake, your path will begin at a later date," a trace of compassion flashed within her eyes as she consoled. "Just that it's not our place to follow alongside them on their final journey."

* * *

Blinking as she got over her disorientation, it was to find herself and Shirou staring towards a massive cave opening at the hill-side of a towering mountain. The vegetation around was dense with lush trees and thick foliage, yet somehow the entrance of the cave was barren. A sinister aura emanating from the cave's shadows.

Instinctively, her hands rested on the hilt of her sword, yet she didn't feel any safer. The blood of Dragons within her was warning her of the presence of a greater Dragon within the cave's depths. One far stronger than her current strength even with Caliburn in her possession.

She shuddered unknowingly until a hand made its way to rest on her shoulder.

"It's okay," Shirou said. "You don't have to come. You can wait outside. Besides, something feels wrong here."

A crow in the distance took off from a tree and perched on a protruding edge of stone before cawing. The sound echoing ominously within the eeriness of the area.

She took everything in, and even then, her mind remained unchanged.

She placed her hand on the shoulder Shirou was holding, entwining her fingers with his before staring at him in firm resolution.

"Together," she emphasized with the squeezing of her hand.

The finality of her tone brooked no room for argument.

Shirou took a moment of silence before he responded in kind, a massive change from how he would have had responded in their youth.

"Together."

She smiled, the hardships she had endured leading up to the present moment suddenly feeling more than worth it as she finally made her way to stand by Shirou's side. No longer was she to be protected as she had as a child. This time, it was her turn to protect him as he did for her.

He walked slightly ahead of her as they entered the cave, adamant that she stays a short way behind to avoid danger. Her protests on the matter were left unheard as he explained to her that he was more suited to be leading due to his enhanced senses.

She didn't fully agree.

With the blood of dragons running through her veins, the darkness of the cave wasn't as difficult for her to navigate in.

Nonetheless, Shirou led and she followed, the basis of who was better to lead not something that was really argued over when she nearly fell into a pit hidden in the floor.

She inwardly huffed in vexation, but the earlier incident was still fresh in her mind, making her travel with more caution than she had in the beginning.

The two had progressed deep within the cave, the caverns within expanding into large spaces filled with hanging stalagmites that glittered with a dull radiance from a source of light originating from a hole in the outside.

Therefore, the area was bright enough that neither she or Shirou had to strain their eyes any longer.

She released a sigh of relief, but tensed in the next moment when Shirou signalled towards her.

"Something's wrong," he said while gently tapping the ground the two were standing over with a foot; the action producing a deep and reverberating sound that echoed acutely in his ears.

Thereafter, he stiffened when he noticed a distinct crack forming quickly between him and Arturia. Along with the prior observation he had made, he was now certain of a gut-wrenching fact.

"The floor…its hollow."

Almost as soon as he spoke, the ground caved in beneath them, the way the two were standing inadvertently plummeting them in different directions.

Shirou tried to make his way over to her, but the plume of dust and debris that erupted around them made it impossible to locate her as she fell.

All she saw during her sudden descent was a darkness enveloping her, the feel of tiny rocks and pebbles grinding against her skin leaving small red imprints over her exposed shoulders before her body hit ground.

She groaned but quickly reacted by rolling as other larger stones impacted the area she had just fallen on.

Blood dripped down from a cut on her forehead, the weight of her legs feeling like jelly as her body shivered.

"Shirou!" She called out, eyes darting around but finding nothing but piles of debris.

Staring up, she couldn't even see where it was that she had fallen from, let alone attempt to find where Shirou had landed in his efforts to reach her. Moreover, she didn't want to think of the option of him being buried under the rocks either.

A cloud of dust still lingered in the air around her, and when it settled, she realized that apart from an opening leading to another part of the cave, there was no where else for her to go while surrounded by the collapsed floor of the upper level.

Left with no other choice and knowing that remaining still would get her nowhere, she proceeded on while cradling a bruise that had formed on her left arm.

Slowly, she eventually reached a new cavern just as lit as the previous. Only she wasn't alone in the room.

The blood within her began to boil in warning, a massive black dragon with a blue sigil marked on its chest staring down at her with a harsh indifference. Its scales were iron, its teeth were swords, and its wings a sleek black leather that flapped open at her arrival.

"A young whelp?" the dragon muttered before sneering. "I am Fafnir, son of Hreidmar and brother of Regin, Ótr, Lyngheiðr and Lofnheiðr. What does the likes of you have business with me especially while accompanying the young Ashton?"

The draconic force Fafnir was releasing pressed down on her like the sea, overbearing and unrelenting. She gritted her teeth and glared despite her growing nervousness.

"You are an Evil Dragon, there's no need for any other reason," she forced out.

Merlin had taught her various things, one of which was that the monsters she had heard of in her childhood were once as real as real could ever be. Bridge trolls, imps, hounds, they had all once walked upon the very same earth. As such, not only did Merlin educate her on the various uses of her magic core, but at the same time he had gave her knowledge of well-known mythological monsters.

Fafnir was one of them originating from Saxon tradition.

The Evil Dragon of the Nibulgunleid that horded wealth and slaughtered all who opposed it.

"Evil Dragon?" Fafnir chuckled darkly, a deep throaty baritone. "You think too kindly of me whelp."

"It wasn't a compliment," she quickly brandished Caliburn in her hands, the comfort it gave her enough to clear her mind.

"A Holy Sword?" Fafnir observed before shaking his head. "Unfortunately, I am not aligned to demonic properties. Its light will never affect me as much as a Dragon slaying sword. Come, try it."

Fafnir mockingly extended out a dragon scaled hand, but the amusement he found in the situation dissipated from the moment Caliburn punctured his scales, Arturia driving it in hilt deep.

Fafnir grimaced in pain, but refused to voice it out. Instead pulling back his hand and glaring as traces of green poisonous smoke drifted from out of his maw.

"Impudent whelp!" Fafnir bellowed incensed before reigning in its temper upon sighting a crow watching from the sidelines. "Your sword may be able to cut me, but it can't kill me," he glowered.

Arturia merely readied Caliburn in response, the magic from her magic core suffusing her body in a pale-blue aura. Her legs opened into a ready stance while her shoulders squared in a practiced motion.

Yet, Fafnir unnerved her by instantly seeing through her intentions.

"You wish to buy time for the Ashton?" Fafnir deduced.

A cold sweat began to drip down Arturia's face, knowing full well that Fafnir wasn't lying when he said that she wouldn't be able to kill him alone at her current skill level. Shirou had always been there for her, and she had faith in him even still. In her mind, he would come and together they could defeat anything.

Which made it all the more startling when the draconic aura pressuring her suddenly relented.

"I'll permit it."

Saying that, Fafnir folded his wings and assumed a resting position with its head looming over a stunned Arturia; she unsure if Fafnir decided to wait out of arrogance or pride, perhaps both.

Even still, this was to her benefit so she did nothing to agitate Fafnir lest he reconsider his actions.

Time dragged on, the tension she was feeling mounting with each passing moment as the grip she had over Caliburn's hilt grew tighter and tighter.

The silence stretched from seconds to minutes, broken only by Fafnir's own doing.

"Why must you take me as an enemy whelp?" He asked out of boredom. "It couldn't possibly just be because I'm known as an Evil Dragon."

Expectedly, she didn't answer, her lips remaining pursed.

Fafnir shrugged, not taking Arturia as a threat for the time being and instead meticulously reviewing the back up plan that had formed in his mind since observing how close Arturia was with Shirou at the entrance of the cave.

"Not talking, I'm fine with that as well," Fafnir grinned. "You need only listen then as I tell you a story."

She glanced up at Fafnir, unsure of what the Dragon was planning yet remaining cautious nonetheless.

"There was once a sovereign of scorched earth, a Fire Elemental connected to the Will of the World," Fafnir began with an inflection in his voice. "A Lord of Flame, whose influence even stretched far within the Reverse Side. His name was Lord Ashton."

Her grip on Caliburn slackened in surprise at Fafnir's admission, thoughts spinning, but left in even more turmoil as the dragon continued.

"An indifferent individual, Lord Ashton unexpectedly fell prey to a feeling foreign to most Elementals whose thoughts and priorities differed from humans. A feeling captured by a single word. Love."

Fafnir grinned derisively.

"Lord Ashton took a fancy towards a human. A woman from a clan of magi bent on researching the essence of phantasmal beings. Inadvertently, he had neglected a duty tasked to both him and the Elemental of Shadow, Agatha, as a result."

Fafnir turned to stare Arturia in the eye, slitted pupils watching the minute changes of her body as his gravely voice crept its way into her ears like the whispering of a snake.

"If Vivian, the Water Elemental was charged with bearing the Last Phantasm, then Lord Ashton and Agatha were charged with maintaining the balance. Those that left to the Reverse Side, were meant to stay in the Reverse Side, unable to find their way back as the world willed it, but Lord Ashton's fixation on the human he called his wife led to disaster."

Fafnir reared his head back as if in remissness before resuming his previous position.

"In the time Lord Ashton had spent with his pregnant wife, the artificial anchor his wife was creating to make a hidden path to the Reverse Side was found and exploited. The Phantasmas began returning one by one, forcing Lord Ashton to start hunting them down alongside the shadow beasts of Agatha. The First Blood Pact began, a collaboration sealed by Geis."

Arturia continued to listen quietly, but Fafnir could see that his voice was steadily getting through to her.

"Lord Ashton had even fostered the aid of humans, forming large groups and aiding them in political battles to set up a vast network of contacts to single out any phantasmal species that had escaped his reaches. Lord Ashton's attempts almost succeeded, but then a certain event happened a couple years after the birth of his only son. Thoroughly cornered by Lord Ashton's means, the remaining phantasmal beasts had no other options."

"They made a last-ditch attempt," Fafnir shrugged. "The Ashton Assassination."

Arturia glanced up sharply, unable to maintain her composure as the topic directly touched on one of her taboos. She cared greatly about Shirou, and knowing what had happened to him as a child, and having seen him always living on his own in their youth, she couldn't remain unaffected.

"What happened?" She demanded.

"They died," Fafnir said simply. "The Ashton's artificial anchor had always been tied with Lord Ashton's human family of magi. Kill them and all their descendants and it doesn't matter if the artificial anchor was repaired. It simply wouldn't work. And that's exactly what happened."

Fafnir smiled.

"Lord Ashton's wife and human relatives were all killed in Lord Ashton's absence, resulting in him having no choice but to seal Agatha and have the both of them bridge the hole punctured to the Reverse Side. The cost was Lord Ashton's life as he could no longer use the artificial anchor that had started it all to fix things. However, it would seem that not all of Lord Ashton's descendants have perished. A child lives."

"Shirou," Arturia muttered lowly.

"The young Ashton's existence is a blessing yet not at the same time. Due to his existence, the phantasmal species such as myself were once again able to bypass the blockade Lord Ashton had erected through the artificial anchor. But on the other hand, his life signifies the chance of utilizing the artificial anchor to permanently seal the hole."

Artruria glared at Fafnir, but couldn't understand it. What point was there in Fafnir telling her these things?

Evidently, Fafnir had been waiting for such a response.

"You don't understand why I'm telling you this?" Fafnir leered, the stench of his breath permeating the room. "Then what if I told you that the cost of sealing the hole created by the Ashton artificial anchor means the loss of your friend?"

She paled.

It was almost like someone had punched her in the gut as an involuntary fear nearly overwhelmed her. She had never been terrified of anything before, but just thinking about losing Shirou caused a hopeless despondence to emerge from within her, making her lips quivered. To her, his importance may very well mean more to her than saving the country. It was a feeling she was almost certain of.

But could she truly believe the words of an enemy?

"I-I don't believe you," she stammered, visibly affected; the pallor of her skin far from its healthy shade.

Fafnir laughed darkly.

"It matters not if you believe me," he said, eyes narrowing in the direction of another tunnel before it swept its large tail and flung Arturia into a remote corner.

"See and hear it for yourself."

* * *

To say he was panicking was an understatement.

"Arturia where are you!"

He continued yelling out while searching through the rubble of the collapsed floor. She had been right behind him moments prior before the two had fallen, and now they were separated behind several layers of rock with him having no idea which direction to search for her in.

It was enough to leave him in a fluster no matter how he thought about it. She was the world to him and just thinking that she may be buried beneath several tons of debris left him beyond uneasy.

"Damn it," he cursed, tracing a Noble Phantasm, but thinking better of using it when he considered that he was still within a cave.

Besides, blasting away in any direction may very well jeopardize Arturia should she get caught in the explosion.

In the end, what was all his skill and experience supposed to amount to in this situation?

At his wits end and growing more and more desperate, a soft voice called out to him from the dark.

"She's alright," the voice spoke. "I noticed her land safely in another part of the cave before she moved away from the shadows and out of my sight."

He startled as the voice sounded, but quickly knew who was speaking to him from the tone.

It was Agatha. The woman who would probably berate him should he openly thank her for her assistance.

She didn't reveal herself, but he could feel that she was present within the looming shadows, crossing her arms at him and waiting for him to get a move on. However, he was reluctant.

"Are you certain that she's not here?" He pressed.

He heard her clicking her tongue, but she did elaborate; although, without masking her annoyance.

"Yes," she drawled. "Now can we go? There's a tunnel leading to an inner cavern over there and even from here you should be able to feel that draconic aura."

He considered it. Being as he was sure that Arturia landed in the opposite direction, from him, she should be safe long enough for him and Agatha to deal with the dragon. And by then, the danger would long since have passed.

Besides, Agatha was right. The intensity of the aura emanating from the tunnel was such that the Dragon Slaying Swords within his armoury were already vying for release. However, he couldn't trace them at the moment lest he alert the dragon due to the anti-dragon properties of the swords.

A moment later, he began moving in the direction of the tunnel, feeling that Agatha was trailing him all the while.

"Why ae you here?" He ended up asking. "Didn't you say you were preventing anymore phantasmal species from crossing over?"

Agatha grunted in the dark, her lithe figure moving forward with a grace and elegance that made her giddy after numerous years in confinement. She was barefoot, wearing a body-length black gown that fluttered with every step.

"Fafnir is of the Millennium Rank," she replied. "Facing him alone may not be in your favour, but the two of us together along with your abilities should be able to handle him."

He nodded, unsure of what Agatha's capabilities were yet trusting her due to her confidence.

With the pace the two were going at, they soon arrived at the cavern illuminated by light where Fafnir had long since been waiting, wings outstretched and lumbering body poised forward, visage ferocious.

No words were spoken at that moment.

There wasn't a need to, to understand the motives of both parties.

One wished to remain free from the shackles of the world, while the other wished to return the balance to what it once was.

Conflict was unavoidable, so when they met, it was undoubtedly in the guise of enemies.

Fafnir roared, the sound deafening as it reverberated within the space, the inflow of dragon force quaking the ground and shattering the overhead stalactites.

It was a power spoken of in legend. They who were independent from nature yet possessed intelligence.

Dragons, the epitome of might in all mythologies spanning across the world. The Pinnacle of Phantasmal Species.

Magical energy was generated with every breath, their lungs acting as spiritual worlds. The thickness of their hides alone could rival the strongest of any defense with only the sharpest of swords and weapons able to pierce through its scales. Even then, the action was difficult; for no Dragon would willingly put themselves in danger, their claws and teeth an effective deterrent, less so then their breath however.

Red Dragons breathed fire, Blue Dragons thunder, and in Fafnir's case, he was a Black Dragon.

Putrid acid left his maw, encompassing a focused portion of the cavern immediately.

And in response came a single voice.

"Rho Aias!"

The shield of the Hero of the Trojan War, Aias the Great.

The Seven Rings that Cover the Fiery Heavens erupted forth.

Seven glowing petals materialized in the air; seven lines of defense emitting a presence distinct to Noble Phantasms and blocking Fafnir's breath in its path. Not only stunning the Dragon, but causing Agatha to marvel at the feat of her contracted master.

Fafnir's eyes widened in alarm not only because his attack had been stopped, but because from behind the shield of Aias emerged two distinct auras unique to Dragon Slaying Swords.

Ascalon, the Sword of Saint George.

And most unbearable of all, Balmung, the Sword of the Hero Siegfried.

"As if I'd let you!" Fafnir was quick to act, funnelling more power into his attack and watching as the smoke of his poisonous breath moved around the petals of the shield.

Agatha had no choice but to grab Shirou in the midst of his Tracing and disappear into the shadows, emerging in another part of the room where the light of the cavern didn't reach. Unfortunately, Fafnir had had enough with playing around after understanding Shirou capability to Trace Dragon Slaying weapons, the main weakness of all dragon-type phantasmal species.

His poisonous breath swiftly shifted from a focused attack into a wide area that nearly encompassed the entire cavern.

"This won't work," Agatha observed. "He won't let you get close and the poison is even worse. Your body may not be able to endure a couple breaths."

He nodded gravely.

"Can you stop his breath attack?" He asked.

Agatha fell silent for a moment, but nodded her head. The power she had gained should be sufficient enough for such a task.

"I should be able to, but that's as much as I can guarantee unless supplied with more magical energy."

Conveying her thoughts, Agatha moved out.

The shadows bent to her will, writhing tendrils that rose from the darkest corners of the room.

"I am the dark itself, the Lord of Shadows," she muttered lowly, black beasts forming from the ether, red irises glowing eerily. "The emptiness hears and obeys, devouring all within a bottomless void."

One by one, the beasts began to howl, maws opening before drawing in the poison of Fafnir's breath and forcing the dragon to panic as once more the presence of Dragon Slaying Weapons permeated within the room. Agatha herself did not remain idle, she bound Fafnir with her tendrils of shadow the moment she saw him attempting to launch a gale force of magical wind with his wings. The strain caused her to pant, the depletion of her reserves making her yell out.

Even if Dragons were the pinnacle of Phantasmal Species, Elementals were on a similar league of their own, able to tap into the power of the world using their innate ability.

The will to configure nature and the world around them, making it their own.

A Reality Marble.

And hers was a vision of a bottomless abyss, yet due to her weakened state, she was limited to controlling mere shadows and specters.

"Hurry, I can't hold him for long!" Agatha warned.

"NOOOO!" Fafnir fumed, gnashing his teeth while madly struggling against his bindings.

The unbridled magical power stored within Fafnir's body began to go berserk, pulsating as Fafnir furiously thrashed and writhed. The enitre cavern began to shake, trails of dust and grime falling from the ceiling like brown snow.

And it was then that all felt it distinctly.

An all-encompassing ambience that voraciously devoured the draconic aura in the air.

Swords to slay Dragons.

"Ascalon," Shirou completed on one hand, and on the other, "Balmung."

For a moment, Fafnir froze petrified, staring at the two blades.

Not again. It didn't want to die again.

Those were the only thoughts in Fafnir's mind as he struggled harder, roaring out when it noticed Shirou's movements.

"Do you not know what you're doing, Ashton?!" Fafnir yelled in a panic as Shirou quickly approached. "You gain nothing from completing the magic seal on the Ashton slate but your own demise."

Shirou froze momentarily, a flicker of guilt appearing in Agatha's eyes.

"What do you mean?" He couldn't help but ask in the tense silence.

"You don't even know?" Fafnir said incredulously, fishing for any way out of his predicament. "When were you going to tell him, Agatha?" He pressed.

"I was planning to, but that doesn't mean that the result is guaranteed," Agatha responded curtly.

"And you think that fixing a hole between layers in the world is without consequences? You're only fooling yourself!" Fafnir's voice rose, noticing that Shirou was mere seconds away from arriving in striking range. "Tell it to him clearly, Agatha! He too shall be brought to the Reverse Side upon the Ashton slate's activation and sealing!"

Fafnir's revelation stunned him, inadvertently drawing his gaze towards Agatha for clarification.

She pursed her lips, eyes closing hard before she opened them.

"It's not guaranteed," she stressed again.

Still, the admission was more than enough for him to understand, _more_ than enough for someone else listening in to understand. And it was something that struck her to her core.

Agatha had a pained expression.

"Regardless of the consequences later," Agatha rasped as she struggled to maintain her bindings over Fafnir. "If we don't complete the slate, then more Phantasmal Species may return from the other side, but this itself isn't the actual problem. It's the possible reaction of the growing collective unconsciousness of humanity."

She paused as she stared at him, using a term he was too familiar with, for it had reached out to him at the end of his life in the future.

"The Counter Force."

His expression hardened. Although the Counter Force was an aspect of the will of humanity, it didn't mean that it shared human sentiments. It didn't care how many died so long as the problem was dealt with either through force or an alternative means.

If a hole leading to the Reverse Side were to open in Britain, then it wouldn't be a surprise if later historians would date the destruction of the British Iles as a part of history. Although he didn't wish to ever part with Arturia, the Counter Force was a direct danger to her brought about with his introduction to the timeline. He couldn't allow it to affect her, and besides, like Agatha had said, the outcome resulting in completing the Ashton slate wasn't guaranteed.

So long as there was a chance, it was worth taking when the alternative was impossible for him to accept.

However, his reasoning was the opposite in someone else's mind who didn't know what the Counter Force represented. Instead, fixated on the sole fact that there was a good chance he would disappear from her life, she was beginning to panic in her anxiety.

As he stepped forward decisively, Balmung and Ascalon raised over his head, malice and impatience suffused Fafnir's eyes.

"Hurry, little whelp."

He didn't understand who the Dragon was referring to, but it didn't matter as he slashed down.

Yet a familiar sword stopped his own, a face looking panic stricken, conflicted, and on the verge of tears halting him in his tracks.

"I-I don't want this," Arturia said, voice and expression breaking. "L-Lets just go home and ask Merlin for help."


	43. Chapter 43

Honestly speaking, she didn't know what to do, yet even still, her heart was set. Her anxiety had carried her forward, sword moving to parry against Shirou's own and ending up in a deadlock.

" _Please_ ," she spoke in a small pleading voice, visibly effecting Shirou in a way no sword or weapon ever could.

She understood that it was probably better to intervene after Shirou had dealt Fafnir the finishing blow, but there was no guarantee that the Ashton Slate would not immediately activate upon the Dragon's defeat. By then it would be too late, and the chance of Shirou disappearing from her life may just come to pass.

No.

_No._

She didn't want that outcome. Just the fact that a chance existed that he would be taken away from her was something she couldn't accept. He was, to her, a person that was irreplaceable. Just imagining a life without him left her feeling so hollow that it hurt right in the center of her chest. A feeling so constrained that her complexion was paling and she was developing shortness of breath.

He was her Knight.

The only one who had stayed true to her long before she had ever drawn Caliburn from the stone.

Sir Ector had always taught her to be upright and understanding, and in turn, Kay had advised her to be true to her feelings. Merlin guided her in the way of the sword and Kingly etiquette.

But Shirou, he was her support.

She tried to blink away the tears forming in her eyes, but it was useless. They simply continued to trickle passed her reddened cheeks, two streams flowing from watery teal coloured orbs piercing in their candor.

Shirou had always insisted that she not hide her emotions, well fine. She wouldn't anymore, all she wanted was for him to listen to her, to not leave her even if it was just a chance. It was selfish of her, yet it was what she truly felt, her genuine emotions laid bare. She spoke not as a King, nor as Knight, but as Arturia Pendragon, the girl hiding beneath her title and duty.

" _Please,_ " she tried again, voice choked. "Merlin must know of another way." She raised her arm and braced it against her sword, bangs shadowing her face as she bowed her head lowly. "Whatever this Counter Force is, we can face it together like a pair. A Sword and a Sheath."

She stared at him, and he back, yet as the seconds passed, she shuddered when she watched him slowly shake his head.

"I'm sorry Arturia, but the Counter Force isn't something so easy to deal with."

She stiffened. It was that tone of voice again. The one he always used when he was considering her safety over his own. Did he not understand, or did he simply choose not to?

"Enough!" She yelled heatedly while shaking her head. "You may not be saying it directly but you're trying to protect me again for my benefit! No. NO! You don't understand!" She sobbed out, the stubbornness he had known Saber for appearing in her disposition. "Even if you keep me safe, even if I one day become a King worthy of respect, do you think I'd be happy with the chance of you being gone!?"

"I _won't_."

"I _can't_."

She parried with her sword, forcing him back, her lips quivering as she swallowed.

"I-If I mean so much to you, has it ever crossed your mind how much you mean to me?!"

She'd never said it aloud before, never even considered it, yet with the situation as it was, she let it all out. She'd never thought herself to be very strong of a person and it was why she protected herself behind an emotionless mask. However, when that mask was gone, the simple girl within her content with a life alongside her loved ones in Bristol came to the surface.

Shirou was unable to respond to her words, her declaration; the sword in his hands gradually lowering as he couldn't bring himself to fight her.

Seeing this scene, Fafnir was momentarily caught off guard within Agatha's restraints. It had always been sceptical of the crow's previous words, but now it understood.

_Secure the girl's help, and the Ashton will weaken._

A low chuckle escaped Fafnir's mouth, yet it did nothing to change the situation. Arturia still stood opposed to Shirou, blade trembling in her hands; she was just as unwilling to fight him as he was her.

"Hurry, Ashton!" Agatha panted from the air, the shadows binding Fafnir writhing and twisting, the bonds thinning. Time was ticking away and Agatha didn't know how much longer her reserves would last.

Shirou finally took action.

He stepped forward, one step at a time, the sword at his side never once lifting up. Never once seeking to harm her.

"Stop!" She warned him as he approached, her stance full of holes in her anxiety.

He didn't listen and continued walking, only his destination wasn't Fafnir, but her.

He stood in front of her sword, the tenderness in his expression unable to be hidden. Her heart began to beat audibly in her chest, her eyes dilating as Shirou stepped forward once more; the tip of Caliburn's edge pressed to his neck and lightly cutting in. The sight of his blood flowing down her sword startled her so much that Caliburn clattered to the ground.

"T-That's not fair," she swallowed bitterly.

"That's because I'm selfish," Shirou admitted, wrapping his arms around her and cradling the back of her head with his hands. He had already seen her disappear from his life once. He didn't want to lose her again. Just as she didn't want him to risk himself, he didn't want her to risk herself against the Counter Force either. The feeling was mutual.

"I won't stop you from stopping me, but what you're forgetting is just why I want to protect you and put you above all else," he stared at her in the eyes, his face drawing close and into a kiss. She quivered softly. "I love you, Arturia Pendragon, will you not put your trust in me one last time?"

He pressed her forehead against hers, feeling her warmth and transmitting his own. "Now and forever, an oath to the stars."

Goosebumps travelled down her skin, her mouth growing dry, opening and closing without saying anything. And in that moment, he let go of her, walking past her and leaving himself open to attack.

She stared at her own hands, then back at him. She could block him, cling to him, yet she knew that he wouldn't offer any form of retaliation. That was how much he cared about her, and she didn't know what to do as a result. It was an unconditional love that made it that much harder for her to cope. She didn't want to potentially lose it. To lose him and the connection they had.

It was getting uncomfortable to swallow, a lump forming in her throat that wouldn't go away.

Her mind insisted that she stop him, yet her heart trusted him more. The belief in the boy who had done so much for her.

Gently, she picked Caliburn up from the ground and watched Shirou's back grow smaller and smaller, the panic in Fafnir's eyes growing more pronounced.

"Whelp, what are you doing!" Fafnir thrashed under Agatha's hold, its large reptilian body quaking the earth and shaking the cavern.

Agatha held on and fueled more energy into her shadows, beads of sweat trailing down her face while the complexion of her skin shifted into a pale pallor.

In the midst of everything, Shirou once again stood before Fafnir, Ascalon and Balmung pointed in the area of Fafnir's heart.

"Enough Ashton! Do you not understand what killing me means!?" Fafnir's struggles intensified, its gaze shifting frantically to Arturia when it realized its words were having no effect on Shirou. "WHELP Hurry and DO something!"

A visible tremor travelled through Arturia, yet she forcibly bit down on her lips and ignored Fafnir's call to action.

Standing before Fafnir and watching the Dragon so utterly restrained by Agatha, Shirou grew solemn while the Ashton Slate in his possession began to shine with a dull light.

"It's over," he said, plunging both Dragon slaying swords directly into Fafnir's heart. With the Dragon Slaying properties both swords held, the blades bypassed the formidable defences of thick scales and enhanced magical armour to tear a hole straight into the heart.

Blood spurted out in waves, the warm life-fluid dousing him in his entirety like Siegfried before him. The blood seeped into his skin similar to a divine tonic or elixir, exemplifying the legend of a Dragon Slayer, they who were bathed in the blood of Dragons. The durability of his body was no longer that of a human's, ordinary blades and weapons no longer able to pierce him.

It was remarkable.

Yet before he could even assess the new condition of his own body, Fafnir's corpse began fading into mots of black light, leaving behind the final piece of the Ashton Sleight which immediately combined with the rest.

Magical power the likes of which he had not once felt before exploded outwards in a pillar that destroyed the entire cavern to reveal the sky outside. The planes of reality distorted, cracks forming in the air and revealing another world seen through the gaps. Where trees grew tall, and the lands were ever encompassing, knowing no bounds, the Reverse Side of the World.

Tendrils of flowing amalgamations of red magical energy formed a complex series of magic circles and sigils that took root as a resplendent pillar binding the fabrics together. A hole to another dimension.

An Anchor.

Like the spear that shines at the World's End, Rhongomyniad, the magical fluctuations originating from the Ashton Slate rendered the planer laws of reality null, opening a passage beyond human means.

And from within him, he felt the pull of his magical reserves, a resonance born from his soul that sought to drag him forward. He hastily dug the swords in his hands into the dirt, securing them to the ground to use as hand-holds.

It was like Arturia had feared. The moment Fafnir died, the Ashton Slate activated in full.

His veins bulged out from beneath his skin, his face flushing red from the exertion, yet not once did he give up. He could feel it even from where he stood, the anxiety in Arturia's gaze. She had put her trust in him once more, and that alone heightened both his strength and mental fortitude.

"Agatha!" He called out. "What now?!"

He clearly remembered the way Agatha had informed him that it wasn't certain that he would get trapped in the Reverse Side. If there was a method, then it was better for him to try than do nothing.

Arturia's gaze quickly fell onto Agatha, her expression desperate.

Agatha grew solemn, falling down from the sky and roughly landing on her feet. Due to her efforts of binding Fafnir for so long, she had used up a large majority of her energy. Even if she was an Elemental, Dragons were at the pinnacle of Phantasmal Species, subduing one was far from easy.

She took in a heavy breath, wiping the sweat off from her brow.

"There are two choices now that the Slate is activated," she began, peering up at the tear between dimensions. "Entering the Artificial Anchor and allowing it to close naturally and thereby trapping you inside, or do as Lord Ashton had done and take control of the Anchor itself."

Her countenance grew grim.

"The first option is fairly simple, but the odds are against you should you attempt the alternative." Exhausted as she was, Agatha still raised her arms and helped ease the suction force over him. "Lord Ashton was a full-fledged Fire Elemental, but you, you seem primarily human. Unless you can contain the sheer power of a World Anchor, you're unlikely to survive."

His lips thinned before he stared at Arturia, the only person who mattered the most to him, and understood that there was no other option. Call him stubborn, but he would never give up on her.

"Even still," he said. "I'll take the chance. Will you help me Agatha?"

Agatha grinned, the paleness of her face unable to mask the beauty of her smile. She flourished her hands outwards.

"HAhahha! Very well!" A power thrummed from around Agatha, one that she knew she didn't have the capability to currently wield yet did so anyway. "Lord Ashton wasn't as brash as you, but perhaps that's why you chose to free the bindings of this Matron of Shadows. Its time to show you that it wasn't the wrong choice."

Blood began to trail down from Agatha's mouth as she utilized parts of her life force without hesitation, her physical body itself flickering.

"Agatha," Shirou spoke out in concern.

She shook her head, concentration heightening.

In many ways she was like the Rin Shirou knew. Despite her current state, she didn't want to be pitied, it would only sully her determination and make it seem as if her actions were worth less than they were. She had her pride and there was no need to question it. He could understand that much from the brief interactions they've had, therefore he no longer attempted to dissuade her.

Instead, all that escaped his mouth was a simple acknowledgment.

"Thank you."

His voice steadily entered Agatha's ears, a minute tremble passing through her. After many years of isolation and fighting alone, it was the first time she'd ever been thanked for her efforts. She didn't know what to feel, but she knew that she wanted to reciprocate the sentiment even if it would only be a temporary increase in power.

"Activate the Seals!" she called out.

From Shirou's arms, the red seals that marked their contract together began to shine brilliantly before fading out one by one; the power of each seal flowing into Agatha and morphing her into a towering shadow that encompassed the Ashton Slate in its entirety.

This was the chance Agatha had provided him.

The suctions force pulling on him reduced drastically, allowing him to study the Ashton Slate before him more thoroughly as he placed his hand on it.

Agatha wasn't specific regarding how exactly he was to take ownership of the Slate, but in a way, perhaps he already knew. The Anchors that existed upon the Earth prevented the return of Phantasmal Species by linking one plane of an existing reality with another. Elementals by their nature possessed what was known as a Marble Phantasm which allowed them to bend the laws of the Earth to their will, creating their own realities from existing concepts.

What had previously allowed Lord Ashton possession of the Slate was a link to the world of fire created from his Marble Phantasm. And if it was a World the Slate needed to tie itself down to, then it wasn't something he was lacking.

" **I am the bone of my sword**."

Power to bend the realities of the world erupted from around him, drawing the surprise of Agatha who had never seen him reveal this aspect of himself before.

"M-Marble Phantasm?"

The words escaped her mouth as she felt the fluctuations in the air, but she quickly shook her head when she realized that it wasn't the laws of the world bending to Shirou's will. Rather, the feeling was entirely different. She and Vivian could feel it far more than others due to their nature as Elementals, but without a doubt, it was the feeling of a world _imposing_ on another.

Curious as Agatha was, she was too preoccupied with the sheer might of the Ashton Slate to pay Shirou anymore mind.

" **Steel is my body and fire is my blood.** "

The clashing of world energies intensified, a thrumming noise resounding along with the crackling of flame reminiscent to the realm of Fire that Lord Ashton was known for. It almost felt to Agatha that it wasn't Shirou standing behind her, but her previous partner. An aspect of flame used to heat the forge of an unlimited arsenal.

" **I have created over a thousand blades.** "

He raised his hands up, placing the slate on his chest where it took root.

" **Unaware of loss nor aware of gain.** "

His eyes narrowed, his reserves of magical energy dipping sharply as the Slate began linking into him and the manifestation of his soul. Yet even still, despite the damage he sustained on his body, he continued on.

" **Withstood pain to create weapons, waiting for one's arrival**."

The very air around him began to pulse, Arturia and Agatha forced to step back. Agatha cursed as a result, but she could no longer remain near the area, her form shrinking and reverting back to its human state. She was an Elemental, a being that drew strength from nature. Therefore, with the very principles of the world around her being imposed by another, she could no longer maintain control on her abilities in her weakened state.

As a result, Shirou alone now bore the full weight and aura of the Ashton Slate, an Anchor of the Reverse Side.

Veins bulged from his skin, blood vessels rupturing into patches of red that stained his clothing. It was enough to make Arturia move towards him in worry.

"Don't," he called out to her, voice barely above a whisper.

He only had a few more lines left, he could feel it already, a link forming with the Slate. His back straightened, his determination keeping him on his feet.

" **I have no regrets. This is the only path**."

His words came out feebly, but within them carried a will that was absolute.

" **So as I pray** ,"

Bronze coloured eyes flashed with a lustrous azure.

" **Unlimited Blade Works**."

For a fraction of a second, Agatha felt as if she had seen a dimension far different from her own. The skies were of a thick iron rust, the half-barren ground mottled with the metallic luster of legendary steel. Some broken, some average, and others, she could not believe were in front of her in such large quantities. It wasn't a world of life or destitution, it was one of a single-minded practicality.

Monolithic gears hung in the air, encroaching upon the world with heavy looming shadows of doubt and wariness that filled her mind with images of battlegrounds and death she had not once seen before. Men dying in droves, rivers of blood staining entire battlefields, the images continued to flash in her mind, ending upon the scene of a tired man's hunched back overlooking everything from upon an empty hill.

Regrets, misgivings, self-loathing, the feelings assailed her, offset by the only ray of light she felt within the world that her eyes were drawn to.

A simple pasture of green where a Sword and Sheath lay propped against each other for support.

There was a radiance to it, a sacred holiness found in simplicity.

A promise that was made.

An Oath that transcended time, beating back the clouds of doubt and hesitation.

It was a world that was barren, practical, and steadily losing the meaning found within its fading ideals, yet as a whole, it was Hope. That no matter how difficult the journey, a light would be waiting.

When next Agatha blinked, everything was gone, pulled back in.

The scenery around her returned to the destroyed cavern, making it appear as if what she had just seen was an illusion. She swallowed, glancing down at Arturia and speculating if she'd seen the same thing, but she was being too optimistic. It was only because of her senses as an Elemental that allowed her a glimpse to a world different from her own.

Regardless, the Ashton Slate itself vanished, absorbed into an unlimited Armoury. All that was left behind was the unstable amalgamation of power that temporarily maintained the hole into the Reverse Side.

"Shirou?" Arturia called out tentatively.

She had been quiet in fear of being a distraction, but with the situation seemingly solved, she could no longer stop herself. Inwardly, she was greatly relieved that Shirou wasn't taken away from her. However, the fact that Shirou was standing directly across from an unsteady build up of magical power was making her apprehensive. Even from where she stood, she felt stifled.

How could she not? The energy before Shirou had single-handedly punctured a hole through the layers of the world. She didn't need to think to understand what would happen if anyone came in contact with it.

"Shirou?" She called out again, brows furrowing together in concern.

He hadn't responded to her.

He didn't even move.

Her concerns mounting, she felt an irrational fear well up from within her similar to a vice squeezing the breath from her chest. Shirou had always answered her when she called, and if he didn't, he would have gestured to convey that he had heard her.

He did neither.

Fraught with worry, she ran forward in a heart beat, the sound of her soles striking the ground echoing from the hard rock as her lips pursed together. He was just a short way in front of her, and yet the closer she got, the more she realized that Shirou just simply didn't react. It didn't matter how loud her steps became or how her armour clanked with each stride, nothing fazed him as if he were…

When the thought reached her mind, she very nearly lost the strength in her legs, but her resolve prompted her to continue on.

Fifteen meters.

Then ten.

All of a sudden, it was as if an invisible wall was preventing her from approaching any further, a hand placing itself gently on her shoulder.

"Calm your mind child," Agatha spoke weakly. "The Ashton isn't in mortal danger, rather he has succeeded. Look." Agatha pointed forward at the swirling mass of energy. "All that's left is for the Ashton to assimilate the residual energy and close the gap between dimensions."

Agatha's words aside, Arturia herself wasn't completely convinced nor fully assured.

"B-But, he didn't respond," she stuttered out, gaze lowered and hand rubbing at her arm. "It's not like him even if he's concentrating."

Agatha stared down at Arturia in bewilderment. She'd seen Arturia's character and disposition as she observed Shirou from her world of shadows and knew that Arturia shouldn't be this unreasonable. Shirou had just conjured what was equivalent to another world to contain the overwhelming energies of a World Anchor. If Shirou still had enough energy to respond to Arturia's calls after that, then he wasn't human.

Regardless, Agatha's expression soon softened. It wasn't difficult for her to understand Arturia's irrationality because Love can make even the smartest of individuals devolve. In that regard, perhaps she and Lord Ashton were no different no matter how much the thought irked her. Foolish until the end.

Her body began fading away into mots of golden light, startling Arturia.

"You, what's happening?" She asked.

Agatha smiled ruefully while glancing at her fading arms.

"I used too much strength and can no longer maintain a physical form." She stared at Shirou, thinking back to her days of isolation in the dark and then the warmth she had felt when she had fought by Shirou's side. "Yet it was worth it."

In the midst of fading, she tousled Arturia's hair in an admonishing gesture. "Keep him safe, his consciousness won't return until he finishes assimilating and is allowed time to recover. Therefore, you shouldn't approach him lightly until the process completes."

Arturia nodded calmly, but her eyes gave her true thoughts away, her gaze steadfast on Shirou's figure.

 _This brat._ Agatha could only smile wryly before closing her eyes, her body vanishing into the air but not before playing one last trick. She willed the spiritual aspect of herself not to return completely to the shadows, but to store itself within Shirou's body to recover there. In a sense, it was her own way of keeping this danger-prone Ashton safe.

_It's all up to you now Ashton, only time will tell whether you prove Vivian wrong, but I'll be waiting._

Agatha's presence vanished completely, and only Arturia remained.

She stood rooted where she was, internally conflicted. The emotional part of her wanted to ignore Agatha's words and directly reach out for Shirou, but the rational part of her mind prevented her from doing so. The clashing of both sides caused her expression to distort in indecision and eventually, she had no choice but to turn her attention away lest she act out.

Keep calm, she continued to persuade herself. Self control had always been one of the first lessons Sir Ector had taught her. Not only would it aid her in battle, but it would aid her in decision making throughout her life as well. Clearly, now was the time to use it.

She busied herself by pacing, her legs carrying her back and forth as the dim glow of the sun overhead gradually shifted into the pale white off the moon. The stars too appeared one by one, glittering eternally like resplendent jewels in a sea of faded black.

It had been just over three hours and still she could hardly see any progress regarding the energies in front of Shirou. The volume itself had only shrunk by around a tenth of the initial size, making it evident that it would take a full day longer. However, the change was enough.

The tension left her, the anxiety she was feeling no longer clouding her judgment as she observed the truth in Agatha's words.

Shirou had done it.

He had solved the issue regarding the Ashton Family and the Phantasmal Species. All that was left was to deal with the Saxon invasion and the founding of the Kingdom.

Thoughts brightening, her mood cleared enough to allow her to think back to the course of events that occurred during the confrontation with Fafnir. Specifically, the lingering softness that she could feel on her lips, flushing her cheeks red.

She blanked, her mind coming to a grueling halt as embarrassment assailed her.

Was she that easy?

It only took a single kiss to subdue her?

Her lips quivered, but she couldn't stop the incessant beating of her heart nor her light-headedness. It was only natural though.

Raised as a boy all her life, it was only the second time she had ever kissed a man, the first when Shirou declared his love for her, and the second when he reaffirmed it in her stubbornness. The time period in-between was perhaps the most awkward; she not knowing how to reciprocate her feelings and Shirou content to let her sort things out. With the final conclusion of the day's events though, she finally affirmed what it was that she had needed to understand.

Merlin had sent her out because of her inexperience and hesitation, and the root of it all was Shirou and the scene of Caliburn reacting to him in the past. Was she truly the worthy King or was she simply the next best choice? The answer to that question didn't matter anymore. She Loved him, and he would stay by her side, the both of them ruling _together_.

That was the answer she had arrived to during her journey. He supporting her, and she supporting him.

It became her dream.

To free her people from the hands of invaders and perhaps start a family of her own as the Ruler of the land. A boy or a girl, it didn't matter. She'd name her child Mordred and pass down her skills, her knowledge, her everything to ensure the child's future and upbringing. For the child would be the symbol of her Love.

She could already picture it; a beautiful utopia forming in her mind filled with swaying reeds and gentle winds as her children frolicked barefoot amongst the grass. Childish laughter and the scent of an autumn breeze lingering in the air along with the distant cries of 'mommy' and 'daddy.'

Her mouth gradually curved upwards until she was smiling lightly under the gaze of the moon, her features soft and alluring.

Yet all dreams end when the dreamer awakens.

A noise piercing in the silence echoed out, the crashing of a meteor up above in the sky deafening as it struck the earth.

She blinked rapidly, arms raised to shield her from the upturned gravel, rock, and dust of the impact. By the time everything settled, Caliburn was already drawn in her hands and pointed forward.

Her expression darkened in disbelief.

_Efret?_

The bird that she had known since she her childhood lay prone within a crater in front of her. Its once ethereal body covered in swaths of scars and wounds that exposed the bone beneath. Parts of its feathers were missing, revealing patches of flaring skin. Compared to the majestic figure she knew in her mind, it was too much of a far cry from its present condition.

She moved forward to help, but she quickly realized that something was wrong.

The ground began to move around her, shifting from solid to liquid and immediately causing her to sink without much resistance. She flailed, using her hands in an attempt to gain leverage but failing to do so. Instead, mud like tendrils of earth sprouted from around her, encasing her arms before hardening and suspending her up into the air. Her previously submerged legs were then encased in a similar manner. As the tendrils had dragged her up, more had come and thoroughly bound her.

Caliburn clattered to the ground, forced out of her grip as the mud and earth seeped through the openings of her gauntlets and unfurled her fingers one by one. The feeling itself was like wet sand pressing against her skin, uncomfortable and unnerving.

She couldn't comprehend it. One moment everything was normal, and in the next, she had been caught unaware.

Magic.

It had to be.

She strained against her restraints, but no matter what she did, the mud encasing her simply slackened before hardening again. It completely nullified her strength, the exertion causing a sheen of sweat to form on her brow.

"Insufferable bird," a vexed voice sounded near her, prompting her to turn her face.

The woman she saw in front of her was in a haggard state. Her clothes were almost entirely singed and numerous blackened burns marred her figure. It was a sorry state no doubt caused by Efret, but from the moment Arturia saw the woman, a chill travelled down her back.

"Morgan," she spoke softly.

Morgan looked up at her, mouth curving up into a sneer.

"Hello little sister," she said candidly, masking her malicious intentions. "Forgive my appearance as the bird over there put up more of a challenge than I was expecting."

She stared hard at Arturia, her jealously unable to be hidden. It was always Arturia who got everything: The throne, loyalty, comrades, whereas she always got nothing. Just thinking about it infuriated her. After all, she viewed all that Arturia had as hers by right. It was her kingdom to rule, her people and subjects to oversee, and yet it was all stolen. Words couldn't describe how devastated she was.

As soon as she arrived, all the animosity she had felt for Efret shifted onto Arturia, ignoring Efret entirely.

"What do you want? And how did you find me," Arturia asked warily, her tone terse.

Morgan merely scoffed in response, moving to stand directly in front of Arturia, staring her up and down with crossed arms. It made Arturia uncomfortable and she once again struggled against her bindings in vain.

"What I want? You're fooling yourself if you don't know by now?" Morgan said dismissively. "As for how I found you, well, whose to say that you ever escaped my notice?"

Her words caused Arturia to pause and think.

From the very beginning since she'd last met with Morgan, she'd been too busy alongside Shirou to pay much attention to her surroundings. It was only when she considered this fact that she realized the anomaly present in every situation she had recently been involved in.

"The Crows," she spoke softly, recalling the black feathered birds watching from a distance in every instance she could remember. She'd never even considered them before due to all the fighting. Crows were scavengers and were common in war and conflict, making them perfect as scouts.

"Indeed," Morgan nodded, uncrossing her arms. "Since the first time I saw you at the gathering of Magi I've always been watching, waiting for an opportunity." Her attention suddenly shifted to Shirou. "And that opportunity has come."

Arturia's eyes dilated, her breathing quickening as a pit formed in her stomach. "W-Wait, stop! He has nothing to do with this?!"

Morgan chuckled darkly.

At first, she had believed that Shirou was the prominent heir of a renowned family of magi, but in reality, he was far worse. He not only possessed the means to command Phantasmal Species, but he could recreate Noble Phantasms seemingly on a whim as well. The sheer versatility and destructive capability found within Shirou was too much too ignore let alone underestimate. Hell, if she wasn't certain that Shirou was incapable of resisting her at the moment, she wouldn't have exposed herself so readily. With her current strength, dealing with him openly was simply too risky.

If she couldn't have him on her side though, then it was impossible to allow him to remain near her little sister. Could Arturia not comprehend this simple logic? Or perhaps she simply chose not to?

It didn't matter.

"Nothing to do with this?" Morgan mouthed, stepping forward; each stride bringing her closer and mounting Arturia's anxiety such that she was beginning to quiver. "It's because of him I'm even here. His presence alone ruins many of the plans I've set in motion in the past." She stared venomously at Shirou. "I gave him a choice once before, he chose wrong."

Arturia's breathing hastened, sweat dripping down from her brow as she struggled to get free. The restraints around her arms and legs bound her too tightly such that it was impossible to utilize her physical might.

_Mana Burst!_

The magic core within her erupted, releasing dense fluctuations of magical and draconic power that boosted her forward. The sudden explosion of energy shattered her bindings, freeing her as she dove for Caliburn.

"Do you really think it would be that easy," Morgan spoke offhandedly, weaving magic within her fingers and actualizing her magecraft. From the dirt, an entire column of mud surrounded Arturia and hardened around her once again. "This entire area is suffused with Fafnir's energy lingering within the rock and gravel. Did you truly believe that I wouldn't account for your strength?"

A gasp escaped Arturia's mouth as a slab of rock smashed into her stomach, the urge to gag welling up from within her as her vision grew misty. She swallowed, panting. "I-I'm the one you're after, leave him alone."

Morgan ignored her, turning her attention back to Shirou and proceeding on.

"Stop!"

"I said STOOOP!"

Blood was starting to seep from her skin starting from the base of her arms where she frenziedly pulled on them. Pain assailed her mind like the biting of numerous ants, yet the pain was nothing compared to her growing desolation as she saw the dagger stab down from Morgan's hands.

Time itself seemed to slow as the dagger's edge inched forward millisecond after millisecond right before her eyes and reflected in her irises. She grew hysteric.

She didn't know what she was screaming out anymore, curses, pleads, warnings, she didn't care so long as she got Morgan to stop her dagger.

In the end, nothing she did changed anything.

The dagger stabbed at Shirou's neck ruthlessly, its metal tip meeting flesh and producing a shower of sparks.

She stared in a daze, but no one was more startled by the development than Morgan.

"He's quite resilient isn't he," Morgan muttered under her breath. "The blood of Dragons? How troublesome."

Morgan withdrew her dagger into her cloak, standing still as she contemplated a solution. With the discovery of Shirou's physical capabilities, she now had even more of a reason to eliminate him before he grew too strong.

"W-What are you going to do?" Arturia asked, seeing Morgan smiling darkly. The relief she had felt after seeing Shirou survive Morgan's attack disappeared completely.

"It's simple. If I can't harm him physically, then I'll do so mentally," she extended her arms out on either side of Shirou's head, magic circles forming over her palms like the merciless vices around Arturia's heart.

"No, no, please no _,_ " she shook her head in denial, complexion deathly pale. "Don't you dare!"

Morgan simply grunted. In less than a second, the magic within her hands activated, directly shooting arcs of magical light through Shirou's skull. A dull buzzing noise resounded out followed by the wobbling of Shirou's body before it fell over the ground unmoving.

The light in Arturia's eyes died, something within her shattering and hurting so much that she didn't know if she'd be able to bear it.

" _MOOORG **ANN**!" _Her voice was hoarse, laced with so much grief that it strained her vocal chords dry.

Left without anywhere to go, the energy left behind by the Ashton Slate created a vacuum of energy that sucked everything into it including Shirou as it levitated high up into the air and exploded outwards.

Nothing was left behind in the explosion's wake.

_Nothing._

The entire scene entered her eyes, filling her with such agony that she began to weep involuntarily.

"Yes! That's it, it's that expression exactly!" Morgan's voice resounded in front of her, but she didn't even care anymore. "How does it feel little sister, to have something you care so much for unjustly taken away from you?"

Tears stained her cheeks wet as she shut her eyes tightly, whimpering lowly, her chest heaving up and down in long drawn out sobs. He was gone. He was gone, the thought just kept repeating in her mind like a curse, the Love he had showered her in akin to the sharpest of blades.

"Kill me," her voice was heartbroken, her head bowed low.

Indeed, the thought had entered Morgan's mind, and after seeing Arturia in such a vulnerable state, it would be a lie to say that she wasn't tempted. However, she was a logical woman. She had already completed her objective and no matter how much the urge to kill Arturia festered within her, she wouldn't rashly act upon it without caution. Merlin was her younger sister's teacher, and she would be a fool to believe that a Wizard like him had not left any life-saving countermeasures.

"Kill you? Why would I do that?" She strode up to Arturia, pinching her cheeks dotingly. "Sometimes it's worse to live than it is to die."

She cradled Arturia's expressionless face with her hands, drawing her head closer to whisper piercingly into her ears.

"Your Knight is _gone_ because you as his King was unable to protect him where he had always protected you," she patted Arturia's head in consolation. "And now he's no more."

Morgan smiled before stepping away and mockingly curtsying. "Bear the consequence of your inability little sister, my revenge is only beginning."

Her words said, Morgan disappeared; a flock of crows soaring through the night sky unhindered as an eerie silence descended on the area.

The restraints that bound Arturia gradually loosened before they broke all together, turning into dust yet she didn't so much as move. She fell on her knees, not even registering the impact or the clanging of her armour. Her gaze was hollow, unfocused, as if nothing in the world mattered anymore.

And perhaps, maybe nothing did.

Efret weakly cawed while crawling up, its soft call drawing her attention towards something she had missed in her despair.

A red jewel and a piece of fabric snagged over a sharp rock.

The only thing left she had of _him_.

She scrambled towards it as if it were a lifeline, uncaring for her image and holding it tightly to her chest while weeping.

In the midst of it all, only a single thought remained in her mind as she stared blankly into space.

_I don't want to be alone._

* * *

A bout of rain had hit the British Isles within the recent days and it only continued to poor unhindered in the greyed skies. On one hand, the rain would inevitably help the crops germinate and bloom for the coming spring, but on the other hand, all military campaigns were forced to stop. Thick swaths of mud and plenty of rain were creating marsh fields in areas of lower elevation that hindered deployment of military supplies and movements.

This was the reason why both the Saxons and Britons ceased hostilities in the previous week, and it was also the source of Kay's boredom. He'd been impersonating the role of King Arthur under the guise of Merlin's magic in the recent months and the fighting had been his sole source of entertainment.

He sighed aloud while riding his horse on a roadside leading to a remote military base established under Merlin's instruction. It was a choke point for the next frontal assault when the clouds parted and it was where he needed to be lest he get scolded by Sir Ector for his tardiness.

He was riding along a worn gravel road filled with the occasional pothole so he was forced to go at a moderate pace. Rain battered on his armour and obscured visibility so he cupped a hand over his forehead to prevent the water from irritating his eyes. The action itself was rather normal, but it was what he noticed because of it that mattered.

The place he was travelling through was fairly remote with hardly any towns or stops in-between, therefore the sight of a figure huddled with their knees pressed to their chest in the downpour was surprising. More so when he squinted and got a better look.

His expression shifted to one of befuddlement, mouth thinning while his brows furrowed. The direction his horse was galloping in quickly altered.

"I've heard of Kings unable to obtain lodgings on short notice, but I've never heard of a King siting alone in the rain?" He spoke out as soon as he got close, using the mantle over his shoulders as a tarp to shield the individual in front of him from the rain.

Arturia didn't respond, her body shivering and fingers turning blue.

Kay blinked as he assessed her.

He swiftly pulled his mantle off of his shoulders and wrapped his little sister in it before pulling her in close to share his warmth. "You're freezing. Damn it Arturia what are you thinking in that head of yours? This isn't what you said when you promised Sir Ector and I to take care of yourself!"

He didn't wait for Arturia to answer in his haste. He placed one hand behind her back and another beneath her legs before hoisting her up from where she sat on the ground, placing her onto his horse. He saddled up promptly after, enveloping Arturia's smaller body with his own as he took the reins and prompted the horse forward.

Seated in front of him, Arturia felt smaller than he remembered her to be. She must have lost weight in the past few days and hadn't been eating enough. Moreover, how long had she been out in the rain for? Her constitution was far better than others were and it would take a lot to reduce her to her current state. The fact that Shirou let this happen to her dumfounded him.

The next time he saw Shirou, they would certainly have words. For the time being however, all that mattered was reaching camp and putting Arturia in front of a fire and a warm meal. Mind burdened with Arturia's horrid state, he made the decision to leave the main road and take a shortcut through the fields.

The horse's hooves clopped unevenly on the wet ground, yet as chance would have it, conditions weren't as bad as he was expecting and the camp came within view after half-an-hour at the most.

"Open the gates!" He called out from a distance away, his voice carrying to the sentries stationed on the promptly made wooden high walls. However, the sentries hesitated.

He wasn't in the guise of King Arthur and none of the recently recruited men recognized him as part of the army. They wouldn't possibly allow entry into the military camp by the orders of some nobody.

"Of all the fucking times," he cursed, hands pulling on the reins as he took a breath. "Its Sir Kay of the _Foul End_! _"_ he spoke the title with disgust before growing irritable when no response came from it. "Father, Merlin, open the goddamn gates!"

His voice caused a stir within the camp. Many had heard of Sir Kay before, but although he was known as a comrade, his reputation was far from pleasing. A knight who tainted their sword with horse shit before going into an honourable battle was always frowned upon. It was only because Sir Ector and Merlin were mentioned that the gates were reluctantly opened by the sentries on Sir Ector's insistence from the inside.

"Bastards," Kay muttered under his breath. It wasn't as if it was him that had actively sought to sully his reputation, it was all the fault of Llamrei.

Misgivings aside, he prioritized the teenage brat in his arms over anything else and rode passed the judging stares of the camp to directly move towards the lit fire at the center. A large tarp was erected overhead to prevent the rain from snuffing out the flames and it was currently pooling water.

He grimaced upon seeing the sight but simply notified someone else to deal with it before pulling Artruia into his arms and setting her a foot away from the fire. She was well within the emitted heat and it wasn't long before some redness was returning to her complexion.

After he had sat Arturia down, Sir Ector and Merlin appeared to question him. The two had been late to arrive camp due to his sudden entrance and the need to quell the commotion in the camp.

"You know, if you'd came through the entrance, I specifically left open for you, you wouldn't have made such a mess at the front," Sir Ector lectured with a sigh.

Kay had no response. He just shook his head and pointed at Arturia. "I needed to get her out of the rain as soon as I could," he explained.

Gaze moving in the direction Kay pointed, Sir Ector grew baffled.

"Arturia?" Sir Ector and Merlin immediately recognized Arturia's features yet the differences from before and now were too apparent.

Her cheeks had sunken in somewhat and the vigour that had used to exude from her face had been replaced by a dull indifference. Red discolorations had formed beneath her eyes and no one present was sure if it was because of the rain or if she'd been crying too hard and for too long.

She didn't respond when called, sniffling silently to herself.

Kay frowned. Now that he thought about it, she hadn't spoken to him once since he'd found her either.

Something was wrong. Something fundamentally wrong and he was a fool to not have considered it before. Knowing Shirou, he would never have had left Arturia alone in such conditions, and this thought was the key.

Alone. Why was she alone?

"Where's Shirou?" The question left his mouth before he even considered the implications.

There was no expression on Arturia's face, yet an unfathomable pain flickered in her eyes. An unbridled hatred suffused within them that only Merlin noticed.

For the first time since she'd returned, she opened her mouth to speak.

"He's dead," she rasped out in a croaked voice. She unable to protect him when he needed it the most. She stared at Merlin and the others, watching the shock that played across their expressions and balled her hands into fists. "I-I want to be alone for a bit. I need to think," she forced out.

Kay and the others looked at each other and held back any questions they may have had. With the condition Arturia was in, it really wasn't appropriate. Only Merlin seemed insistent on remaining but he relented when Sir Ector grabbed his arm and shook his head. Sir Ector could see the act she was pulling for what it really was.

The three left without much noise, and it was only then that the mask Arturia had barely been maintaining gradually crumbled.

Another lump was forming in her throat and moisture was accumulating in her eyes. Every single memory, every single interaction she had had with Shirou played in her thoughts without end, beating at her ceaselessly like ocean waves.

She drew her knees to her chest and buried her face over her elbows.

She suppressed the emotions within her, no longer focusing on her grief but on what needed to be done, her Duty and her Vengeance.

If Morgan wanted to be King,

Then she would make sure that Morgan would never get the chance. _Never._

She looked up at the flickering flames before her and wondered what Shirou would have said to her at the moment in an attempt to comfort herself.

Yet all it did was further the realization that he would no longer be there to stand beside her.

And that thought hurt her more than anything.

She fell into a heavy silence once again.

A King without her Knight.


	44. Chapter 44

**_-Years later._ **

**_-The Settlement of Exeter in Devon near the war front of West and South Saxons._ **

**_-Late 5_ ** **_th_ ** **_-Century AD._ **

Steel met steel in a shower of sparks as a hammer struck down from an anvil in a remote smithy at the edge of the town of Exeter. Beyond the smithy was a large forest the inhabitants entered just before every fall to harvest wood for the winter season. It was there that he was found and rescued by the owner of the smithery.

A hammer descended down on impure ore, hammering away to later break the material down into ingots for later use.

The hammer was in the hands of a man roughly twenty to twenty-two years old in appearance with toned muscles and skin matted with black soot. He was the man the owner of the smithery had found unconscious in the woods one fall season several years prior.

His hair was kept short, the auburn strands somewhat singed from working by a forge for too long, but the man had talent that the deceased owner of the smithery had never seen before. The way his bronze-coloured eyes could concentrate so deeply on the metal being hammered and forged was a quality rare even amongst blacksmiths.

The man stood up from where he was working to grab a towel on the counter which he used to wipe the sweat from his brow.

The man's name was Shirou, and that was just about all that he could remember.

At the back of his neck was a faint seal that was unable to be seen without thorough scrutiny, a property of shadows imbued within the runes that denoted Agatha's strenuous efforts over the years. It was she who had saved him in his time of his past crisis, but it unfortunately came at a cost.

Morgan's magic was unable to damage Shirou's brain or physical body due to his fortune of bathing in Fafnir's blood, but it didn't matter. It was a magic that sought to destroy the memories of a person instead, rendering them vegetively dead. The only method Agatha had at the time to protect Shirou was ironically to seal those very same memories away.

Leading to his current situation.

The life Shirou was living now was truly idyllic. He would forge in the day, sleep in the evening, and maintain the smithery to his full capabilities. Recently, due to the mobilization of Knights to the front lines in West and South Saxons, business had picked up considerably. Coin was no longer a problem for him, but it meant that he had less time to work on his ambition.

His current goal was to master his smithing and create a sword unparalleled throughout history. It had been the dream of the blacksmith who took him in, and he was determined to achieve it. With his natural talent in blacksmithing and the resilience of his body, he knew that he alone could brave the heat required to forge the toughest of metals. The only problem though was acquiring the metals themselves.

He didn't want to make a weapon out of ordinary steel, it needed to be unique.

Lamentations aside, his gaze shifted to his unfinished products lined at the far wall. The Knight garrison that had visited him a day prior required him to repair and help maintain the garrison's equipment for it next military campaign. In the broader picture, Exeter was just a small stop for the Knights before they would later move on. As such, he wanted to do the best he could for the men fighting for the country.

Speaking of which, he recalled the townsfolk in Exeter up in commotion about the latest news. Word was that a Knight of the Round Table, a recently created Order of Knights founded by a young King Arthur, would soon arrive in town.

Truth be told, he wasn't as exited as everyone else. He was a blacksmith. All he cared about was the perfection of his craft and besides, he didn't have much hopes of meeting such a famed individual with how isolated his location was from the town.

Fate however would play out differently.

Even though he lived in a remote location of town, he had no idea how much praise the people of Exeter had for his metallurgy. From pots, pans, knives, swords, and armours, he was undoubtably the best. Some even comparing his craftsmanship to the famed metalworks of the Iron Forge which equipped King Arthur's Order of the Wolf unit.

It was almost certain that when a particular Knight of the Round heard such talks that she decided to make her way to his residence.

In the same moment he decided to return to his smithing, a knock resounded at the entrance of his smithy before an armoured Knight walked in.

The Knight had a horned helm and donned a full suit of armour lined with red engravings that ran throughout the body. A regal waist cloth hung from the hips made of a black fabric that resembled silk.

What caught his immediate attention though, was the damaged sword in the Knight's hand. It was so thoroughly used that nicks and cracks were visible throughout its shaft and fuller.

"I heard you make good blades?" The Knight's tone was gruff, yet effeminate. "Make me one."

He raised a brow before ignoring the Knight and moving on to work back over the anvil where he was forging steel. With how busy he was, he couldn't just shift his priorities just because he was asked to. It wasn't part of his policy.

"Hey! I was talking to you!" The Knight stepped forward in displeasure.

He simply shrugged, before gesturing to a display wall. "Test them for yourself."

He watched as the Knight glared at him before moving towards the display of swords he had put out near the front of the smithy. The Knight seemed to be contemplating before picking up a sharpened Bastard Sword nearly longer than the Knight was tall and began swinging it around.

"Not bad," he heard the Knight say while developing a feel for the blade and chopping into a nearby tree. The blade cut in so deeply that half of the tree's trunk was severed through. The Knight's eyes shone. "Not bad at all."

Seeing that the Knight was appeased, he grabbed his hammer, heated up his ore, and began the process of forging. Using the heat generated from the furnace, he slowly melted the metal until it was a fiery orange in colour before placing the substance over the anvil to shape it. Based on how hard he hit, the angle he struck, the quality of the finished product would be completely different. This was why it was imperative that he concentrate.

One strike.

Then two.

Then three.

A twitch was steadily beginning to form over his mouth as he felt a gaze watching him intently. Subtly, he glanced over with his eyes.

 _Too close,_ was the first thought in his mind. The Knight was peering intently at him at a distance where he could accidently hit the Knight with his hammer. It didn't help that the Knight was leaning her face closer in, seemingly mesmerized by the glowing ore.

"Do you mind?" He said evenly.

The Knight didn't understand his intentions, more likely, probably didn't even care.

"You're pretty good at this aren't you?" The Knight said. He could imagine a grin on the other side of the helm. "How about making me that custom sword now? The other sword was good, but it's not my size."

This time, his brow really did twitch no matter how much he tried to suppress the action. "And if I said later?"

"I have all day, and tomorrow, and the next day after." The Knight spoke smugly in response. "Watching you just may prove entertaining anyway."

He felt a headache coming from the interaction he was having. The one thing all craftsman hated as a whole were forceful commissioners. The personality of the Knight in front of him was already hard to deal with. Having the Knight stay and watch him work would be a detriment he couldn't afford if he wanted to maintain the quota he needed for his most recent order.

"Look," he said, turning his head to face his newest customer. "You're not my friend, you're not my acquaintance. Think about it clearly. I don't even know you so what makes you think that I should prioritize a sword for you over the others who came first?"

"Is that all it takes?" The Knight said in surprise. Thereafter, the Knight moved to take off her helmet in one motion. Blond hair the colour of wheat fell out in a tangled mess of bangs and unkempt strands followed by teal eyes filled with a radiance and ambition that struck at something from deep within him.

"I'm Mordred, Knight of the Round. And now we're acquaintances," she said with a laugh. "So, about that sword- Hey, are you even listening?"

He froze, rooted in place.

_That face._

_That expression_.

The hammer in his hands dropped, clattering to the ground in a loud bang that toppled the sword he was working on over the anvil.

Mordred rose a brow, but he hardly noticed.

He called her a stranger, someone he couldn't possibly have had known.

_Then why was it so familiar?_

He stared into her eyes, captivated yet lost, a desire to protect welling up from within him so strongly that it threatened to overwhelm him.

It was a feeling that he just simply could not explain nor ignore,

And before he knew it.

He had stepped right in front of her, head lowering to capture her lips in his with a gentleness that even he did not know he possessed. Stunned as she was with his sudden action, he ended up kissing her again _deeply_ before she reacted and pushed off of him, the taste of wild berries lingering in his mouth.

By the time he regained clarity of his mind, it was to the sight of a flustered Knight with her face so red that it resembled a tomato, her mouth opening and closing with no words coming out. Smug and brash as she had been before, at least he won a victory.


	45. Chapter 45

_A man must not show fear._

_A man must not loss composure._

_You are not a woman, guileless child, and one day you too will rule._

* * *

Mordred gritted her teeth.

Her face was flushed red, an internal heat she'd never felt before nearly overwhelming her as it spread up to her ears. Her lips tingled, a lingering sensation causing her mind to further blank before her hands fumbled over a tabletop, her fingers curling up one by one over the worn hilt of a sword left at the counter.

She wasn't thinking anymore, maybe because she wasn't able to. Her thoughts were fuzzy, dulling her senses as all she could see was the _fiend_ in front of her. Her pupils dilated, her breathing quickening. They'd just met and he, he…

From Shirou's perspective, Mordred face was shifting between varying shades of red, finally settling on crimson before she found the ability to speak again.

"Y-You shameless Fiend!" she spoke in a high pitch, the muscles of her throat tightening as if strangled.

In the same instance, a sword came swinging down so fast that it generated a gust of wind from the motion alone. It was a reflexive action, something that Mordred didn't even consider before her attack was already in motion.

Seeing the sword aimed to cleave his chest, Shirou didn't have the option of dodging. He knew his physical capabilities well from his years of forging, and he didn't possess the means to evade in time.

Fortunately, he was exceedingly confident in his durability.

Shirou's arm raised itself into a guarded position, forearm bent at the elbow just in front of his chest.

_He who bathed in the blood of Dragons._

_His skin was steel._

_His blood fraught with magical energy._

Sparks flew into the air in arcs of fiery orange as the sword grated against Shirou's forearm, yet not so much as a scratch left itself on his arm. Instead, the only damage Shirou sustained was tolerating the sword's impact, his knees forcibly bracing against the ground.

Mordred's eyes widened in surprise, blinking to see if she was seeing right.

Even though Mordred hadn't been thinking before she swung, the strength of her attack was nothing to scoff at let alone be intercepted so easily.

The sleeve of Shirou's shirt had torn where Mordred's attack had landed, and from the sound of the strike, Mordred assumed that Shirou was wearing a vambrace beneath his sleeve.

 _Lucky bastard,_ Mordred thought inwardly, pulling back her sword to stare emotionlessly at Shirou as she considered her next move.

For Shirou's part, the continued sight of Mordred's face was spreading chaos in his mind.

_"Do you want the hare, or the chicken?"_

_"I will be your Knight."_

_"A promise to the stars."_

Thoughts, feelings, things that he'd never even considered before were relentlessly assailing him and leaving him no choice but to incessantly rub his temples to alleviate the headache. At the back of his neck, a magic seal flashed dully before one of the sigils on the outer ring gradually faded away.

It was at that point, that he recomposed himself.

"Sorry, I don't know what came over me," Shirou forced out while grimacing.

Mordred would have no excuses.

"Do you think 'sorry' is going to be enough?" The sword trembled in Mordred's grip. "T-That was my first-"

Mordred cut herself off, stammering incoherently as the tips of her cheeks flushed red, swirls in her eyes. She was staring at him with such animosity that it was palpable. In fact, Shirou was worried that she was going to take another swing.

With that thought in mind, Shirou tried to come up with a way out of the situation.

"How do you want to die?" Mordred's tone was flat, her intentions clear as her legs spread out into a heavy stance.

"T-That sword you wanted," Shirou said hastily. "It won't do you much good if you decide to kill me here."

Something flickered in Mordred's gaze. Indeed, a new sword was the entire reason she had sought out Shirou in the first place. If one asked her if she was satisfied with the swords she tested, then she would be blunt and answer 'yes.'

It didn't matter which sword Mordred inspected in Shirou's smithy, long, short, moderate, they were all of good quality. The weights were ideal and the leather grips comfortable in her hands. Even better was their durability and sharpness, the one she tested able to slightly cut into hardstone without damaging the blade.

She wanted one.

 _No,_ she thought of all the other swords she'd broken in the midst of battle and resolved herself.

She needed one.

It was why she even deigned it necessary to remove her helmet and insist that her sword be made first despite knowing the repercussions of others seeing her face. Mordred looked too much like the King, which may lead to unnecessary speculation, but she had revealed herself regardless.

The coming battle was too important for her, and besides, she didn't think it possible that a remote blacksmith like Shirou had ever seen the King's face before to be able to make the connection.

Lips twitching, Mordred reluctantly lowered her weapon after a moment of thought.

"It better be the best sword you've ever made," she glowered, not knowing that it didn't matter what sort of expression she made.

Shirou simply wouldn't take offense. From the moment he saw Mordred's face, nothing seemed to matter to him anymore other than a feeling that had been repressed within him for years.

A need to protect her.

To get closer to her.

He'd often heard stories from his regular customers about their experiences in love but could never relate to it. Now though, perhaps it was different.

_If a man wanted to pursue a treasure before them, one always had to take the first step._

"I won't hold back if its for a friend," Shirou said in good faith.

"We are not friends."

-He was immediately shot down.

Shirou coughed into his hand awkwardly. "Then we'll eventually work our relationship up?" He tried.

Mordred stared at Shirou flatly. _Try again._

Shirou raised his hand out in front of him.

"Shirou," he introduced himself.

Mordred finally reacted positively. She stared at the offered hand, hesitated, before grabbing it in her own.

"Mordred," she reintroduced herself. It would have been better though if it didn't look like she swallowed a fly when their hands met.

Shirou tried to act indifferent, but inwardly he was berating himself for leaving such a bad impression on their first meeting.

"How long will this sword take?" Mordred took back her hand and crossed her arms.

Shirou shrugged.

"However long it needs," he answered, placing a hand beneath his chin in thought, missing the way Mordred's eyes narrowed at his answer.

Shirou continued on.

"You asked for the best sword I'll ever make, therefore, I won't settle on mediocre." Shirou tapped a finger over his chin as he began to pace. "I will give you a sword that will not chip, will not bend, and will not break. One that most embodies you and suits you in all aspects, sharpness and weight. But for now…"

Shirou stopped at the edge of a work table, looking around at the available swords in his smithy before choosing one he was particularly proud of and offering it to Mordred.

"You'll have to make do with this," he said brightly.

He smiled to make himself more likable, but the smile didn't last long.

"Do you think this is a joke?" Mordred once again leveled her weapon up, the tip pointed forward. "I was of the impression that you'd be making me a weapon as of this moment? Do you intend to cheat me with a pre-made sword?"

The pent-up fury Mordred had forced down was steadily working itself up.

It was true that the sword in Shirou's hands was of good quality and design, but it wasn't custom made for her, the length being too long for someone of her stature.

Shirou could see what Mordred was getting at and could only sigh in defeat. He put away the sword in his hand before settling on a compromise. "How about this? I'll make you a tailor-made sword for now, and my best work later?"

Mordred considered Shirou's words.

She wasn't exactly confident that Shirou could make her a sword that would become renowned in the world, but as far as she cared, it would be fine as long as it didn't break with continued use. Her first choice had always been something personally created by the blacksmith of the famed Iron Forge, but that master craftsman was too elusive, none being able to find him anymore as if he had disappeared.

Coupled with the fact that she didn't know very many blacksmiths with similar skill to what she'd seen with Shirou's swords, she had no options left.

"Fine," the words grudgingly left Mordred's mouth as she turned her gaze away. The anger that swelled within her due to Shirou's sudden kiss wasn't something that was going to go away easily.

"Then we've come to a deal," Shirou nodded his head. "I'll begin the forging process now and your temporary sword should be ready in a couple days of work."

Mordred nodded and ended the discussion.

She remained within the smithy for a minute or two before coming to a decision and promptly walking out of the smithy's doors.

Seeing her leave, a part of Shirou felt like wanting to stop her, but another part knew that it was best that he gets back to work. He had too many things he had to do in a limited amount of time, and with Mordred's additional commission, he'd have to start cutting back on sleep.

Turning back to his forge, he picked up his hammer and resumed his profession, the heat of the forge dying the room in a fiery orange. He picked up several steel ores and laid them down in the order that he would process them for the highest efficiency.

It was when he was in the midst of hammering the impurities out of the steel in front of him that he heard something peculiar though.

A shuffling noise of some kind mixed in with the clattering of pots and silverware.

Shirou's brow twitched, his back straightening from its hunch to stare out in the direction of his front yard.

What was she doing?

From the corner of his eye and through an open window, he could see that rather than leaving, Mordred had instead wandered directly outside of his forge. She was currently in the midst of rummaging through a moderately sized supply bag that she'd evidently been lugging around with her before entering Shirou's smithy.

Shirou didn't know much about the army led by the King of Britain, but he wasn't a fool who'd never heard of an army tent before. It was standard procedure for Knights to bring the necessary tools to set up a camp and Mordred was no different.

The noise Mordred was making was particularly distracting. It was a cacophony of clattering noise and an oddly pleasant humming which Shirou could hear despite the distance between them. After all, Shirou had always possessed keen senses, and his hearing was not an exception.

When Shirou forged, there was a certain ring he'd grown accustomed to perceiving after a good hit of his hammer and the steel over the anvil. It was a thorough clanging noise that denoted the current malleability of the metal he was working with. In the current instance, he couldn't hear it, nor get into a steady rhythm with the distraction Mordred was causing.

Eventually, he had no choice but to intervene, and by then, he realized that he may have made a mistake that would change his carefree life forever.

"What are you doing?" Shirou's eyebrow twitched as he left his forge and stopped directly in front of Mordred.

Mordred herself turned her back on Shirou and resumed her actions, leaving Shirou with only a short response while she eventually propped up a small tent. "Setting camp," she said.

"You're setting camp directly outside my forge?" He tried to send her a hint.

"Yup," she didn't deny his words.

"Why?"

She turned around to stare at him with all seriousness as if she was looking at a fool.

"To make sure you don't run away when I'm not looking," she said earnestly.

_Patience Shirou patience. You aren't dealing with the average Knight anymore._

Mordred was nothing like the other Knights Shirou had met before. She was stubborn rather than courteous, and quick-tempered rather than calm.

"Don't you trust my character as a blacksmith?" He tried to reason.

Mordred suddenly stilled, and it was only then that Shirou recalled the kind of impression he had left on her, the taste of wild berries lingering on his lips.

Mordred looked at Shirou confrontationally, evidently understanding what he was thinking about and trembling in shame.

Shirou had no choice but to sigh.

Scratching his head, he smiled wryly

"Then at the very least, can you tone down the noise?" He tried to be hopeful with his request, but the animosity he saw in Mordred's eyes was far from comforting.

"Does it irritate you?" Mordred inquired.

Shirou thought fast and knew that if he simply answered 'yes,' then she'd probably continue to make noise just to spite him. Was she a Knight or was she a child?

Shirou was inwardly exasperated.

"Not as much as it distracts from my work," he reasoned. "And the more distracting noise you make, the longer it will take me to make your sword."

"Then I'll consider it." Mordred grunted in disappointment, but at the very least, Shirou knew that this was the most cooperation he was going to get from her.

That being said, he would still compliment her where it was due.

"Your humming is beautiful though, it's soothing to the ears, and I wouldn't mind listening to it as I forge." It was a soft melody, kind of like the effect of wind chimes.

His sudden praise caught Mordred by surprise. She had only been humming because she had believed herself to be far enough from Shirou that he wouldn't hear.

The fact that he did, embarrassed her greatly.

"W-Wha," Mordred spoke incoherently, her lips quivering as her mouth opened and closed. The tent that she was in the midst of securing crumpled to the ground in her fluster.

By this point however, Shirou had already walked away, not noticing the expression on Mordred's face.

Then again, Mordred would have had no choice but to kill him to silence him if he had.

For it would have been too unbearable on her self-conscience.

A stain on her life.

* * *

Five days passed, and numerous swords were hurriedly made by Shirou in the time span.

The shipment of weapons Shirou was supposed to complete was finished the day prior, and now all his attention was on the finishing touches of Mordred's custom-made sword. The fuller was complete along with the hilt and pommel, but he had run out of wet stones to sharpen the blade edge.

Shirou held Mordred's unfinished sword in front of him and inspected it in the dim light of his forge. Even unpolished and unsharpened, its quality couldn't be doubted as Shirou had spent a great deal of time on its creation.

It was perhaps his best work so far, and it would only be better after it was complete. The primary reason he could create Mordred's sword so fast was because the feelings he had while making it differed from all the other sword he had made before. He wanted to make a sword that Mordred would have no complaints about and be able to protect her on the battlefield.

By this point, he wasn't certain if the feelings he had for her were love or something else, but what he did know was that his feelings of wanting to protect her were genuine.

Placing the unfinished sword back over the anvil, Shirou prepared himself to make a trip to the town to acquire the final materials he would need to complete the sword.

It was just after he had pushed open the front doors of his smithy that his mouth couldn't help but curve downwards.

In front of him was a small camp with all kinds of supplies and necessities disorderly sprawled out over the ground. Mordred herself didn't even seem to care, her expression groggy and hair in disarray while she stretched and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She was laying on a mat of straw which she had laid next to the small fire that she had made for warmth when she suddenly noticed him staring.

"Watcha starin at?" She scoffed, hurriedly wiping the trails of drool on her mouth in a fluster before completely ignoring Shirou in favour of making herself presentable.

Mordred had been keeping to herself, remaining completely guarded against Shirou as if he was some heinous beast, granted kissing her on their first meeting was a bit much.

Her behaviour towards Shirou had not changed in the past few days, but rather, she'd become more cautious of him the more he behaved and acted courteous towards her. Even the blankets he had offered her to sleep with in the night were taken with a grain of salt. It was as if she assumed that he was plotting something underhanded.

Mordred's apprehension towards Shirou exasperated him to no end, but he'd had to continue putting up with it because it was his own fault.

"I'm leaving," he said to notify Mordred of his intentions.

It was only then that Mordred took notice of his current attire and paid him more attention.

"Where are you going?" She asked, tying her hair up with a small band of cloth which she had held in her mouth and then tied around her hair. "Don't even think about running away. I may not look like it, but I do own a horse," she threatened.

He pinched the bridge of his nose with a hand. Bear with it. Bear with it, Shirou repeated the phrase in his head like a mantra before achieving a state of indifference.

"Surely you won't stop me from going out to get supplies, now will you?" He said calmly. "I've used the last of my wet stones and natural lacquers I need for the sword I'm making for you."

"Fine, then go," Mordred said. He let out a breath of relief, but his celebrations were too early. "But I'm coming with you just to make sure," Mordred finished.

Shirou didn't even bother arguing anymore. He was better off trying to find a method to somehow redeem himself in Mordred's eyes, not that it would be an easy endeavor.

For the time being, Shirou simply waited until Mordred was ready to leave, her preparations completed after fastening her armour and donning her horned-helm.

"Well," Mordred intoned, gesturing towards him with a hand. "Lead the way."

Shirou slumped his shoulders, and began walking at the front, Mordred maintaining a following distance of one foot; far enough that she could react to anything unexpected, and close enough that the two could still talk.

The town of Exeter had become a gathering point for the military in recent days on a campaign against West Saxons and the decisive battles occurring near the borders. Exeter was a strategic location where the local defence force could stock up on supplies and regather their formations.

Mordred herself was probably a member of the distant army camp stationed a kilometre away from Exeter in large white tents billowing with plumes of smoke in the air. That being the case, Shirou found it difficult to understand why Mordred hadn't just issued her request for a new sword with the regiment of Knights that had visited him previously.

For some reason she just seemed disinclined to associate with her fellow Knights, but it wasn't something Shirou decided that he should meddle in without consideration.

Walking through the town of Exeter, the local townsfolk were doing their all to help accommodate the inflow of Knights in the area, donating several stores of food to act as reserve rations. In doing so, every villager knew that they'd have to limit their consumption in the winter, but none of the villagers complained when the alternative was likely death by foreign invaders.

It was a group effort on the national level.

Every local Briton understood the threat the Saxons had on their livelihoods and the bravery the Knights were showing to fight on their behalf.

This was probably why Shirou ended up holding more than he could carry at the moment in his arms.

"Didn't expect you to be with a Knight, here, take this bread."

"We've had a good harvest this year, a sac of grain for the road."

"Don't forget water. Everyone needs water."

As more and more townsfolk piled their gifts on Shirou's arm, he was considering just heading back and forgoing everything, but at the very least, his keen ears had picked up on the fact that Mordred was trying to stifle her laughter.

If she was having fun at his expense, then he could endure a couple more kilograms of weight.

The townsfolk were earnest, trying to do what they can for the people who fought for their behalf. Some even bowed their heads in Mordred's direction.

Mordred seemed used to the actions of the townsfolk and was quick to offer thanks.

It was in this manner that both Shirou and Mordred eventually reached the local trade market and Shirou got what he needed. All that was left was returning back to the forge and completing the finishing touches on Mordred's sword.

Hurried as Mordred was in obtaining her finished sword, she suddenly stilled half-way through the journey back to the smithy.

"Let's take a different route," Mordred said, pursing her lips beneath her helm. "We can circle that way," she pointed with her left hand.

"Uhm, why? It's a straight path back to the smithy from where we are now," Shirou tried to reason, shifting the weight of the items in his hands to something more manageable.

Mordred fell silent, understanding that she was being irrational. In the first place, Shirou already had his hands full with carrying everything the townsfolk gave them and making him walk longer seemed too vindictive.

Moving along, it was only after a couple of steps that Shirou was able to see what had given Mordred pause.

It was a group of Knights marching in a neat formation down the same path both Shirou and Mordred were taking. From the looks of the situation, Mordred must have been acquainted with the Knights ahead and didn't want to interact with them.

Mordred was walking unnaturally stiffly, her gaze directed at the ground as her hands balled into fists.

It was only when Shirou got within earshot of the other Knights that he came to an understanding.

"Look, its Sir Mordred," one of the Knights whispered to each other.

"D-Don't look at him. I-If he takes a liking to us out of spite were doomed," another whispered back.

"Sir Mordred's too much. No unit under him ever survives,"

"S-Shut up all of you. Just keep your heads down and follow me. We'll just circle around before it's too late."

One of the Knights in the group took the initiative and headed in a different direction, every other Knight following behind much to Shirou's shock.

Shirou turned to stare at Mordred. At some point, she'd stopped walking and was just standing in place.

A shudder passed through her body, pain flickering in her eyes as it was evident that she had heard what the Knights had said.

"Ignore them," she said to Shirou while subconsciously rubbing at her arm. "I don't need the help of cowards anyway."

Mordred didn't exactly have the best reputation.

She had always been reckless in battle, seeking to charge into the heart of the fray to earn the largest merits in her aspirations to be recognized by the King. However, her actions were suicidal for those assigned to follow her as a commanding Knight of her position. Their death-rates were a hundred-percent, earning her a notorious reputation among the Knights.

She was Mordred, Knight of One. None able to stand by her in battle.

The subject of which Knights Mordred would lead in battle was always a headache for army leaders as none wished to serve under her.

Mordred could still recall a scene in her mind, Knights standing in line behind their superiors, and she standing alone in an open field.

It wasn't as if Mordred didn't care about the deaths of the Knights assigned under her, it was just that she _needed_ to prove herself. Therefore, she couldn't stop acting recklessly.

It wasn't as if it mattered if she was alone anyway.

She'd reminded herself of that several times already, so why?

Why did it hurt?

"Mordred you-"

"Shut up."

Mordred cut Shirou off before hurrying ahead back to the smithy, leaving Shirou behind.

With all the things in Shirou's hands, it was impossible for him to catch up to Mordred.

She reached the smithy first, and by the time Shirou arrived, it was to the sight of her sitting alone in front of her camp fire with her helmet removed.

She was hunched over her knees with her back facing him, staring dully at the flames, shadows flickering in the dim glow.

Shirou knew that it was probably best if he left Mordred alone to settle her thoughts, but her current image triggered something within him. A past sentiment directed towards someone of similar appearance.

A need to act.

Slowly, Shirou put aside the items held in his arms and made his way to stand across from Mordred. He had no words of conciliation he could offer as he still didn't know her well enough, but it didn't matter. The fact that he was there for her was evident enough.

He poked at the flame with a stick, sending up embers into the air as he fed the fire more wood, a blast of heat begining to spread out.

Silence hung in the air, neither Shirou or Mordred taking the initiative to speak.

Mordred was observing Shirou, and Shirou observing back.

"I don't need your pity," Mordred was the first to break the quiet. "Leave and just finish my sword."

"No," Shirou sat himself on the ground, ignoring Mordred's glare. "I'm comfortable right here."

Mordred sucked in a breath and something flickered in her gaze. Looking at Shirou, Mordred couldn't understand him. She was convinced that he was a Fiend that she should stay away from, but her prolonged observations of him were telling her otherwise.

She wanted to hate Shirou, to dislike him, and yet despite the clear animosity she had directed at him, he still looked at her without hate or judgement. Even in the past few days she spent camped outside of his forge, rather than growing mad, Shirou had offered her blankets and various outdoor necessities instead.

She didn't know what to feel.

_"Perhaps we can work our relationship up."_

The words that Shirou said before surfaced in Mordred's mind. Was he actually being serious when he said that?

Mordred bit her lips, but maintained her vigilance.

"Those Knights before, none of them wanted to fight with you?" Shirou inquired.

"None of your business." Mordred was reluctant to speak on the matter.

However, Shirou didn't pay Mordred any mind. Although he phrased his words like a question, it was more of a statement if anything.

"Listen, Mordred," Shirou called out while continuing to prod the fire with a stick.

"Yeah, what is it?" Mordred asked curtly, expression irritable. She really didn't want to talk about the topic and yet she saw something in Shirou's bronze coloured eyes that weren't present before.

A will of steel. Unbending, and imposing.

An expression that the current King of Britain would know all too well.

"If no one is willing to fight with you," Shirou spoke softly under the crackling of the flame, his arms out in front of him. "Then although these hands are only good for swinging hammers and mending steel, let this blacksmith fight alongside you."

Mordred was stunned.

In that moment, it was impossible for Mordred not to see or feell Shirou's sincerity, something no one she knew of had ever directed towards her. Inwardly, she was moved, a single act of kindness and concern causing her mind to blank.

It irritated her to know that she obtained some sort of happiness from Shirou's words though.

She glowered.

"S-Shut up, who needs a fool like you anyways," she stuttered out. "I'd have to be wary of those in front of me _and_ behind me."

Shirou grinned. "I'll take that as a compliment,"

Shirou's reply left Mordred at a loss.

"Y-You bastard," Mordred murmured under her breath, her words lacking any ill intentions and more subdued if anything as her eyes seemed to shimmer in the light of the fire.

He stared at her, and she stared back in the silence, her fingers fidgeting before she heatedly scratched at her head. Her wheat coloured hair became ruffled as a result, but Mordred didn't seem to notice nor care.

The expression on her face was a mixture of contentment and unease, as if unable to understand what she was truly feeling.

In the end though, she stared at the ground in silence moments before clicking her tongue.

"Do what you want," she spoke softly, her tone unable to be described. "See if I care."

Staring at Mordred, Shirou smiled wryly. He'd met all kinds of people in the town. Some open, others more secretive, but Mordred was perhaps the only one he'd ever met who had trouble expressing herself to such a degree. It was as if she didn't expect anyone aside from her family to truly understand her or be concerned for her.

Seeing Mordred hunched over in front of him, he stood up and sat directly next to her, his sudden action jolting her.

Mordred glanced at him wearily, yet all he did was cross his hands behind his head and lay his back on the ground.

"I'll do as you say and do as I want then," Shirou said while looking up towards the sky. "And right now, I think I've already decided."

The image of a field of long grass flashed across his mind, a girl standing within it, golden tresses of hair blowing gently in the wind.

A deep yearning.

And a smile he felt it impossible to have had forgotten.

Calling out to him.

_Shirou._

"Shirou?"

He blinked, Mordred's face a foot away from his own as she had leaned over from where she was sitting to inspect him curiously.

Noticing that she had gotten his attention, Mordred scoffed before pulling back and crossing her arms.

"What did you decide on?" Mordred inquired.

He made eye contact with her before rubbing his temples to sort out the mess in his head. Too many memories appearing without context hurting his mind.

At the moment though it didn't matter.

He sat up and thumped a fist to his chest in earnestness, making sure he had Mordred's attention.

"I will be your shield to ward away all obstacles," he stated.

Mordred froze for a moment before rolling her eyes.

"Is that so?"

Mordred didn't seem to take Shirou's statement to heart, even snorting when she heard it, but at the very least, it was the first time Shirou saw her smile.

And that was all he needed.

* * *

The following day came with a surprise for Shirou.

Mordred was packing her supplies hurriedly as if she was in a rush, not even noticing the finished sword Shirou had made for her in his hands. It was made of standard steel and forged meticulously for increased durability.

Currently, the sword was sheathed in a long wooden scabbard bound with tight leather.

"Is something wrong?" He called out.

"We have to leave now if we we're going to make military protocol," Mordred said to Shirou as he walked out of his forge. "I've been told through a letter to arrive at the central camp to begin the march to the front lines."

Seeing Shirou's lack of a reaction to her words, Mordred felt a bout of unease well up from within her.

"You _are_ coming right?" Mordred inquired.

It was only after noticing Mordred's apprehension that Shirou collected himself to nod his head.

"Of course," he spoke.

Mordred's sudden call to battle had left Shirou momentarily at a loss as he didn't expect that he would have to live up to his previous words so soon.

Shirou wondered what expression Mordred would make if he played a fool and pretended that nothing happened the previous day. Then again, Mordred didn't seem the type to take teasing very well, so he decided against it.

"Give me a moment to get ready," Shirou said while rushing back to his forging room. "I have a few things I have to grab."

Mordred nodded before standing and waiting as Shirou disappeared back into his smithy.

Moments later, Shirou returned.

"A hammer?" Mordred said in disbelief. "Why not take a sword?"

Shirou shrugged, securing the metal hammers he had brought with him on a leather utility belt around his waist.

"It wasn't that I didn't consider bringing a sword, but from what I can remember, I don't think I've ever had any practice with one. I'm more used to my hammers, and besides, I'm confident in my physical capabilities. They've always been tougher than most," Shirou explained.

Mordred was still doubtful, but she dropped the matter due to the urgency of time.

"Let's go!" Mordred called out while leading the way.

* * *

In the army camp gathered at Exeter, Palamid was the name of the commanding leader of the army. Although Palamid was young, none of the Knights he commanded looked down on him or dared disrespect him.

One reason was because of the relation Palamid had with King Arthur. The two had known each other since childhood and maintained a steady friendship. King Arthur trusted Palamid, and in turn, Palamid had already fought and commanded many battles in King Arthur's name.

The current campaign on West Saxons was no different.

Palamid still wore full plate armour and a helm, but different from his youth, he now donned silks embroidered with the image of a welsh dragon over his front.

Not only had Palamid led several victories in his years leading, but his reputation as a former member of the Knights of Wolfred, now formally known as King Arthur's Wolf Unit, granted him a certain prestige.

King Arthur's Wolf Unit was said to be the strongest spear, a cavalry force able to pierce though the toughest of enemy lines.

Their weapons able to cut through stone like cheese and their armours unbreakable, they were the nightmare of all Saxon forces who tried countless means to counter the unit.

Only Palamid and a select few others understood the secret of the Wolf Unit's armaments, and the fact that no other Wolf Unit could ever be created without _his_ presence. Merlin could do something similar of course, but the man remained adamant in his position as a simple 'watcher.'

Palamid shook his head as he thought about the past.

It wouldn't do to linger on such matters for long.

Clearing his mind, Palamid stretched a hand forward and pulled back the flaps of his personal tent to observe the formations of the army he would march with to West Saxons. He had made the decision for the army to restock provision and equipment in Exeter so that all units would be at their best before a decisive battle.

The army Palamid was leading was spread out into four units of a thousand and further segregated into groups with hundred-man commanders and ten-man commanders. This setup allowed for the army to remain stable even if a commanding officer was killed.

Palamid was currently in control of four-thousand men, and from where he stood, he had a view of everyone. They stood orderly upon an open field while waiting for instructions as he had ordered them to do prior.

Palamid had grown over the years, and his current stature allowed him to stand on equal footing with all the Knights present. His hands were behind his back and he exuded the aura of a commanding general.

From behind Palamid, he could hear the bickering of the officers he had promoted approaching him.

"Sir Palamid," an officer called out to him.

Palamid turned around to face a man named Marcus Freid, one of the four thousand-man commanders in the army. Marcus was short in stature and had a rough beard growing down past his chest. His eyes were always composed and despite his rugged appearance, he was actually quite intelligent.

"You have a report?" Palamid inquired.

Marcus hesitated before shaking his head.

"Its not a report, but it's about the matter concerning the placement of the Knight Mordred. No one is willing to fight under his command," Marcus explained.

Palamid let out a sigh before turning his back on Marcus to think.

Palamid couldn't understand what Arthur was thinking in regards to Mordred. It was hinted from the last time Palamid had spoken with Arthur that Arthur disliked Mordred, and yet Arthur had still decided to make Mordred a Knight of the Round table.

Palamid didn't know what was going on between the two, and he didn't want to either. He was fine as long as Mordred could help him get results.

"I don't know how well Mordred's fought in his previous battles, but Mordred's still a Knight of the Round. If no one wants to fight under his command then force a few of the soldiers," Palamid suggested. "I've not met a single Knight of the Round that was weak after all."

"B-But Sir," Marcus attempted to argue, but Palamid silenced Marcus with a small gesture.

"You're a thousand-man commander Marcus," Palamid said with a nod. "I'll leave Mordred's matter to you and the other thousand-man leaders to handle."

Hearing Palamid's words, Marcus had no choice but to accede and begin bickering with his compatriots as to whose men would be forcibly repositioned under Mordred's command.

Palamid sighed as he turned his attention back on the armies just behind Marcus and the other three officers. He already had a plan in mind for the battle at the border of West Saxons and all that was left was to march out.

As he was silently contemplating, for an instance, Palamid was sure that he'd seen someone familiar at the corner of his vision.

A shade of red hair and a carefree disposition.

 _No,_ _it couldn't be._

Palamid furrowed his brows, pushing past the squabbling officers near him to get a better look at the army gathered in front of him.

One second past, then two, and before Palamid even understood what was happening, he was running. Running so fast that not even Marcus and the other thousand-man commanders could keep track of him; Palamid zeroing in on a back he didn't think he'd ever see again.

_The King said he was dead._

A shudder travelled down Palamid's neck.

From his initial vantage point overseeing the gathered army, he had only noticed a few minor details that he couldn't have been certain of, but the closer he got, the surer he became.

_It's Him! Fuck it's actually him!_

One could argue that it was impossible for Palamid to have spotted a single figure in an army of thousands, but as luck would have it, his target was standing next to Mordred who many Knights distanced themselves away from. It created a glaring hole in the army's ranks that Palamid exploited.

As Palamid drew near, the number of Knights he was pushing his way passed became thinner and thinner until there was nothing at all. By the time Palamid pushed passed the final Knight in his way, it was to the sight of two people standing in front of him and looking at him in bewilderment.

Mordred for her part felt confused. As she had spent all of her time outside the army camp, she had yet to know what Palamid, the commanding leader of the army, looked like. In her perspective, a random Knight had just come running from out of nowhere to stare at her and Shirou in silence.

Palamid pulled off his helmet, convinced that the visor over his face was making him see things, but in the end, nothing changed. The man in front of him was still there.

Palamid's action of taking off his helmet sent the entire army into a daze. Long and silk-like hair fell down his back like a water fall, his naturally effeminate face having grown more mesmerizing in the past few years. His complexion was both smooth and free of blemishes. There was even a flush on his cheeks due to his previous exertion of running, making him all the more captivating.

It was a beauty like none other that bewitched all including the Wizard Merlin once upon a time. Left unsaid, Palamid had a death feud with the famed Wizard that he would never let go.

In the current instance however, Palamid wasn't thinking anymore as he looked at Shirou with a piercing gaze.

Shirou frowned, feeling it odd that he was being stared at so fervently by a woman he didn't even know. Granted the woman herself was stunningly beautiful, but he already considered himself a taken man.

Mordred who was standing near Shirou scoffed, inwardly feeling miffed for reasons she couldn't understand. So, what? Even if her impression of Shirou had risen a few levels for his declaration to fight alongside her, it wasn't as if she cared about what he did in his personal time anyway. Regardless, her countenance darkened irritably.

"Do you need something?" Shirou finally couldn't take Palamid's staring anymore and inquired.

It was the blow that shattered the daze Palamid was in, and before Shirou could react, he was enveloped in a bone crushing hug.

"You Fucking Bastard!" Palamid laughed even as he yelled out.

If you were alive, why the hell did you never contact anyone!

Caught up in the moment, Palamid failed to notice that his prompt actions had triggered something in Mordred she'd never felt before. Jealousy.

Although Mordred didn't think very well of Shirou, he was the only one who had ever actively stood by her and even put up with her. He had said that he would be her Shield, in which case, a shield was a possession?

Someone was stealing her possession.

Mordred attempted to justify herself even as she pried Palamid away from Shirou with her hands.

Palamid for his part didn't resist Mordred's forceful intervention. After all, he'd noticed something after taking a closer look at Shirou's face.

Why was Shirou looking at him like a stranger?

A cold feeling inwardly assailed Palamid and he couldn't help but ascertain.

"Y-You're Shirou aren't you?" Palamid stuttered out questioningly.


	46. Chapter 46

Palamid was not an overly emotional man; rather he was keen on maintaining proper bearings and the dignity of his social class, displaying grace when appropriate and elegance when needed. However, even he had times where it was difficult for him to retain his noble disposition, and seeing a friend who he had thought dead for years was too heavy of a blow for his composure to take.

"Well, why aren't you answering?" Palamid pressed, hands growing clammy beneath his armour. Mordred was glaring at him, but he paid Mordred no mind as he simply pushed past her to stare Shirou in the face.

The Knights gathered around began to murmur to themselves quietly. Unlike Mordred who never spent too long in the main camp, the other Knights knew full well who Palamid was. The only shock came with the appearance beneath the helm and the assumption that their leader was a woman who seemed to be chastising a former lover.

The murmurs grew more heated while Shirou for his part, stood dazed. The more he looked at Palamid, the more it felt as if he should know him.

_"_ _I am Palamid, Squire of Sir Anders."_

A smaller version of a young adolescent wearing full-plate armour flashed within Shirou's inner psyche before abruptly dying out with a brief pang of pain. He winced, the action not going unnoticed by Palamid who abruptly frowned and made to step forward. However, Palamid was impeded by Mordred who stepped in between, her arms crossed and unwelcoming.

The din of chatter suddenly quieted down as Palamid's eyes narrowed.

"What do you think you're doing?" Palamid demanded.

"Standing," Mordred answered curtly.

"Then stand elsewhere."

Palamid made to step passed Mordred but each attempt was met with obstruction, causing Palamid's brows to crease. He'd read reports and descriptions from his acting subordinates that Mordred was difficult to deal with, but Palamid had his limits, especially with the current gravity of the matter.

"Sir Mordred, what is your problem?" Palamid asked, inwardly annoyed, lips curving downwards. He was the commanding leader of the army, and none had ever dared act this brazenly before him. Mordred was the exception, and it didn't help that she was a Knight of the Round.

Hearing Palamid's question cleared the clouds that had afflicted Mordred's mind. She snapped out of it and actually began considering Palamid's words.

What _was_ her problem? Even she didn't know exactly but just seeing Palamid was aggravating. As hard as it was to admit, she felt inadequate when compared to Palamid. Looks, bearings, status, disposition, she was thoroughly outclassed, but at most she should have only felt motivation to one day surpass Palamid. Yet instead, she was growing more annoyed by the second. She was aware that she was being unreasonable, but so what?

She was Mordred. She'd always acted on her emotions before considering any repercussions. It only helped that she didn't currently like Palamid.

"You are harassing my friend," she said, uncrossing her arms, a tinge of red on her cheeks from the shame she felt when she subtly noticed Shirou's ears perk up at her way of address. Coughing to hide her embarrassment, she ignored the burning heat rushing to her ears and continued to stare up at Palamid unflinchingly.

Shirou, for his part, felt a sense of satisfaction from Mordred's acknowledgment. 'Friend' was a stark upgrade from 'Fiend,' after all, but regardless, he didn't need Mordred to step in for him.

He placed a hand on Mordred's shoulder and moved passed her to address Palamid.

Shirou's touch caused Mordred to still before she clicked her tongue and stood to the side.

"Sorry for taking too long to answer," Shirou scratched the back of his head, an action so familiar to Palamid that it was hard for him to hold back his reaction. In the end, his experience as a commander allowed him to maintain a neutral expression.

"Go on," Palamid simply said.

Shirou nodded. "I do go by Shirou, but I don't think I know you," he spoke with sincerity. There was no hesitation in his tone or any noticeable pauses that indicated the use of a lie. Seeing this, Mordred was inwardly relieved and immediately looked smugly at Palamid who stood stock-still.

Palamid closed his mouth as a shudder travelled down his body. He could feel the incredulousness within him start to boil until finally he could no longer hold it back.

"Y-You don't know me?" Palamid bristled, eyes growing bloodshot from unease. "You can't possibly be serious? It's me! We didn't grow up together but we've known each other since we were ten!"

The certainty in Palamid's voice was hard for Shirou to refute. Coupled with the fact that he found Palamid familiar it was highly likely that Palamid was indeed telling the truth. Unfortunately, reality made it impossible to ascertain anything.

"Sorry," Shirou apologized, much to Palamid's disbelief. "You feel familiar, but I've lost my earliest memories, so I can't be certain if I really do know you."

It was like Palamid was visibly struck by a hammer, his expression falling.

"W-What did you just say?" Palamid stammered.

Mordred looked between Shirou and Palamid and felt uncomfortable, feeling as if she was being left out of a loop. Shirou didn't have any memories of the past? The revelation effected her only for a moment before she stowed the information away in her mind. Palamid however was different.

The past meant a lot to him. The memories of Shirou and the things he had done were the memories that made him, the King, and everyone else who they were in the present day.

Palamid quelled his emotions as the urge to knock Shirou out and question him privately entered his mind. But under the gaze of everyone present, he was forced to restrain himself, a shudder travelling down his body.

He was still the commander of the army and needed to maintain his reputation to aspire confidence in the Knights that obeyed his commands. Therefore, as much as he wanted to continue the current conversation, it was useless now that Shirou said he didn't remember anything. Continuing to insist while Shirou remained clueless would only make him look like a fool.

Palamid sucked in a breath and in the same action, placed his helmet back on.

He didn't speak another word from then on, merely hesitating before retreating back to his army tent. The Knights in Palamid's way quickly parted and gave a formal salute.

It was only then that Mordred realized just who exactly she and Shirou had been talking with, the respect in the eyes of the other Knights clear to see.

It was the current commander of the army, Palamid, son of Duke Frederick.

* * *

As soon as Palamid pushed open the flaps of his tent, he sat down on the small stool placed beside a sparsely decorated table while feeling utterly exhausted. A map was unfurled in front of him with a weighing stone located on the corner to prevent the map from curling. Various wooden pieces and ink markings were drawn in many locations that depicted the future movements of the army, but Palamid hardly cared.

Looking at the map, Palamid couldn't bother with it anymore and swept it aside with his arm to clear the surface of the table. In which case, he pulled out a blank parchment and a feather quill whose tip was dabbed in ink, and furiously began writing.

Minutes passed, then several.

Each time Palamid completed a letter, he'd read it over and crumple it in dissatisfaction before starting all over again. Following the passage of time, the interior of his tent was soon cluttered and messy, not at all how it used to be.

This was the sight Marcus Freid walked into, and the man was stunned. He'd never seen Palamid do such a thing before. It was unnatural, just as much as Palamid's previous actions of breaking military formation to meet up with a stranger. Worse, rather than resume his previous position of overseeing the army, Palamid returned directly to his private tent, leaving Marcus and the other officers to handle the situation.

Marcus and the other officers were already aware of what Palamid looked like beneath his helm, but it was the first time the common Knight laid glimpse at perfection. Naturally, Marcus and the other officers were far from pleased as they had taken it upon themselves to protect Palamid's 'virtue,' as befitting of a Lady. Of course, Palamid would probably strangle them if he ever discovered their thoughts, but those were matters for another time.

Marcus debated whether he should interrupt Palamid, and eventually couldn't hold himself back. "Captain, who was that man exactly?" He called out in displeasure. As far as he was concerned, the care and emotion that the Captain had shown was too envious for an upstart recruit. It wasn't fair.

Palamid grunted to let Marcus know he'd been heard.

Gradually, Palamid put down the quill in his right hand, read over the letter he'd just wrote, and crumped it up again in dissatisfaction. It was only then that he took the time to give Marcus his full attention.

"His name is Shirou," Palamid said reminiscently, the sound of his voice, soft and elegant, almost enchanting to listen to.

Marcus nearly fell into a daze before shaking his head and recalling the reason for his visit.

"This Shirou person? Does he really qualify enough to put you through all this trouble?" Marcus was clearly dissatisfied. "Not only did you abandon the morning meeting, but now you're spending your time here crumpling parchment as if they were as bountiful as a Summer harvest."

It was only after Marcus mentioned the fact that Palamid realized just how many parchments he'd wasted. His father was a nobleman, but it was still difficult to provide so many parchments cheaply. Inwardly embarrassed, Palamid turned his head to the side, not knowing that the action caused Marcus's heart to beat furiously as his misconceptions regarding Palamid intensified.

Seeing that Palamid had no words of rebut, Marcus wordlessly let the matter of the parchments drop and focused solely on the individual who somehow earned his Captain's full attention. Instantly, his entire disposition grew hostile as he considered discussing with the other officers to give Shirou a little lesson. If he even dared to make the Captain unhappy then Shirou should better wish he was dead.

Hands balling to fists behind him, it was only when Palamid coughed into his hand that Marcus composed his mind.

"You do have a point. I shouldn't be this wasteful. I'll think out what I'll say before I write," Palamid conceded before sighing. "As for the matter regarding Shirou, it's more complicated than you may think."

Marcus furrowed his brows. "Complicated?"

Palamid nodded before taking off his stuffy helmet. His helmet was uncomfortable and now that he was no longer in public, he had no qualms with removing it.

Marcus didn't dare to stare for too long and averted his gaze lest he grow muddleheaded and make a fool of himself. Heedless of Marcus's internal battle, Palamid continued on while tying up his hair, the loose strands getting in the way of his vision.

"I had many friends growing up. One being the King, and another being the Son of Wolfred, but there was still another perhaps greater than anyone I've ever known." There was a seriousness in Palamid's eyes that made it impossible for Marcus to interrupt to ask questions. Instead, he just stood there silently.

"I know that you and the other officers may just see Shirou as some commoner randomly recruited by Sir Mordred, but he used to be known by a different name. In fact, I reckon that the King himself would be rendered speechless at the kind of accomplishment Sir Mordred has unknowingly accomplished on a whim."

Palamid stood up from his stool and began pacing.

Marcus crossed his arms. It was difficult for him to fully believe Palamid's words. What kind of merit would deserve the King's attention just for finding a person who Marcus learned was just a common blacksmith?

"What kind of person could be so important?" Marcus blurted out.

Palamid shook his head and didn't answer immediately, replying instead with a question.

"Do you know who the King probably trusted and believed in the most in the world?" Palamid stopped pacing and turned to face Marcus directly. It was a blow Marcus's heart couldn't take as he hurriedly averted his gaze. Palamid continued speaking regardless. "It was a man who could create miracles, all for the King's sake."

Palamid thought back to the past, boundless admiration welling up from within him.

"He never complained, he never gave up, and he always found a method to victory. He was someone that I, regardless of all my achievements, still look up to. Weren't you the same, Sir Marcus?" Palamid paused, staring at Marcus intently.

"I-I look up to him?" Marcus muttered in confusion. He winced at the disappointment he could see in Palamid's eyes.

"You came from near Bristol, didn't you? Then all the more reason you should have heard of him before!" Palamid exclaimed. "Just try to think, he's practically a legend, one of Britain's greatest heroes sung by the local bards."

Marcus scratched his head, unable to make the connection between Shirou and any hero he'd ever heard of before. "Sorry, Captain, I'm not exactly the smartest bloke."

Palamid sighed before clasping his hands behind his back and looking solemn.

"If King Arthur is the promising King that would lead our local forces against the Saxon invaders then Shirou was the King's Right Hand."

The revelation of Palamid's words struck Marcus with the power of a sledgehammer. He reeled, as if physically struck.

"C-Captain, Y-You can't mean he's-"

Palamid nodded. "Lord Ashton, Duke of Bristol and High Noble of Britain."

"Forger, Beast Slayer, Winged Rider, Master Archer, God of Agriculture, and Wizard of Swords," Palamid began to list with his fingers. "His titles are daunting, but that's the type of individual he was, composed and level-headed even in childhood."

The feats Shirou had accomplished were hard for anyone to imagine. The effects of the farming technique he had imparted to David, Emily's father, were enough to supply rations for the entire country after being readily adopted as the new farming standard. He was practically a God to all the serfs and peasants struggling to procure enough of a harvest to survive through the winters. Some had even set up small alters in re-enactment of the ancient Greek tradition of worshiping heroes, many visiting Bristol to offer their respects.

Furthermore, it was hard to imagine the effect Shirou would have if it was revealed that he was also the blacksmith of the famed Iron Forge. Nobles would kill just to recruit Shirou and have him create weapons and armours for their personal Knights.

Moreover, if the Ashton name made its reappearance in Britain once more, then it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that the King would finally have the full support of the old Nobility. Despite being the King, many older lines of Nobility saw Arthur as a greenhorn and had no confidence in lending their Knights to support the war effort.

Lord Ashton however had a stellar reputation on the battlefield, his titles containing not one shred of doubt. In fact, the initial nobility that had joined King Arthur's cause were swayed by Shirou's presence beside the King alone. It was only afterwards that the King was able to win a few of the Nobles over with continued success on the battlefield.

Lord Ashton's re-emergence would be a turning point to the current stalemate against the Saxons.

However, nothing was ever that easy.

"H-His Lordship is actually fighting in the army with us?" Marcus was thrilled to hear such news, the dissatisfaction and hostility he had for Shirou suddenly disappearing. Lord Ashton was the idol of many aspiring Knights and officers. Marcus was no different.

Palamid didn't answer, Marcus's question.

If Shirou didn't remember, chances were that he wouldn't recall his own capabilities either. The entire situation was going to be difficult to deal with, but for the sake of a friend he thought long since dead, Palamid would spare no expense.

The only hard part of the current situation was how Palamid was going to break the news to the King.

Besides, no matter how sure Palamid was that Shirou was the Lord Ashton he knew, he would have to be absolutely certain before he made such a report to the King. The King, well, Arthur was never the same after Shirou's disappearance. He still smiled and displayed emotions in front of friends and family, but in private, Palamid had seen more than once the King's expression look so dead and pale that he grew concerned that the King was afflicted with some kind of curse or illness.

After further consideration, Palamid realized that a written message would never be able to convey all that needed to be said. The King in person should be able to ascertain everything, and as such, Palamid made it a priority in his mind to take Shirou directly to the King to judge.

The impulse to abandon everything and seek an audience with the King nearly overwhelmed Palamid, but he knew he'd have to wait until after the battle at the border of West Saxons. He couldn't leave his post as the commander of the army on a whim as it was his duty to repulse the invaders of his homeland. It didn't help that the army was set to march in a few hours, rendering him unable to delay.

"Marcus," Palamid called out in all seriousness.

"Yes?" Marcus's expression mirrored Palamid's own: Decisive and unwavering.

Palamid smiled in approval.

"For the time being, send someone to monitor him. Keep him safe and away from trouble. The coming battle will be dangerous."

"By your orders!" Marcus saluted and left.

Left alone, Palamid absently placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. He knew that the Saxons outnumbered them by a ratio of almost four to one, but he had to remain steadfast. The plan he had devised should work, no it had to work. There were no other options.

He began to pace back and forth.

As Palamid continued weighing the odds of victory in his mind, he couldn't help but recall Shirou's presence in the current army. Even if Shirou didn't know his own capabilities, it didn't matter as long as he was there.

There was no basis to Palamid's confidence but his countenance lightened in mirth, a smile tugging on his lips.

Maybe, just maybe, a miracle would occur.

* * *

The army was on the march to the borders of West Saxons after an early morning meal. The sun that had previously been up overhead was replaced by thick grey clouds that soon blotted out the sky and created a heavy gloom.

Cold winds battered against the heavy steel armour the Knights wore, and the constant marching was exhausting on the average Knight. Sweat filled their brows and many opted to remove lighter pieces of their armour which they stored away in bags hung on their backs or tossed onto supply carriages.

Shirou and Mordred were different though. The two of them hardly seemed to be exerting any effort at all. Mordred for her part was a trained Knight who had already adjusted to a life of travel while wearing her armours, weapons, and personal gear. Shirou on the other hand was just a common blacksmith, but the amount he was carrying reminded Mordred of a packmule.

He was simply too kind.

On top of carrying the regular hammers and necessities he had brought from his smithy, Shirou had offered to carry the other items of the Knights who were exceedingly exhausted. His current appearance caused the common Knight to stare warmly at him. Many who realized that Shirou was just a blacksmith made a silent oath to protect him on the battlefield. This was the case for the small regiment of Knights forcibly drafted by Marcus and the others to be led under Mordred's command.

It astonished Mordred to no end. It was to the point that she was actually considering asking Shirou for advice to be more likable.

Shirou, ignorant as he was to the effect of his actions in the army, was leisurely walking along like nothing concerned him. Contrary to belief however, he just had his own considerations to contemplate.

"Is there something wrong?" Shirou asked, glancing around behind him at Mordred who was trailing his back.

"No," was the curt reply.

Shirou knew better that to take Mordred's words at face value. He slowed his pace to walk side by side with her.

"You've been staring at me for the past-half hour without saying a word," he explained, much to Mordred's horror. Her body stiffened up in distress at being caught in the act, but she was unwilling to admit anything.

She clicked her tongue and kept her thoughts to herself. No matter how much she wanted to ask about the previous matter with Palamid, she didn't think herself close enough with Shirou to pry into the topic despite her curiosity. That being the case, she was growing a tad irritable with the expressions of envy occasionally directed towards Shirou, her face morphing into a glower.

It was no secret that many in the army saw the interaction between Shirou and Palamid earlier. The only problem was that Palamid's appearance was just too alluring for any man to look at and not feel anything. This was one of the many reasons Palamid had forbidden himself from ever showing his face outside of private meetings and gatherings. It was too troublesome to deal with.

If not for the fact that Shirou's reappearance was too ground-breaking, Palamid would never have had recklessly taken off his helmet. Rumours in the army had begun to spread that they were currently being led into battle by an Angel. On one hand such a rumour boosted morale significantly, but on the other hand, Mordred was annoyed, especially with talk of Shirou and Palamid being in an ambiguous relationship.

As a person of keen hearing, Mordred heard every single detail, making the glare she was unconsciously directing at Shirou more and more prominent. However, she couldn't be completely mad at him either as she had heard from Shirou himself that he had no memories of his past. This being the case, she had nowhere to vent her growing ire and it was showing on her face.

The other Knights in the area were giving her a wide berth, none but Shirou directly walking beside her which somehow alleviated much of her sour mood.

Still, from the contemplative look on Shirou's face, Mordred was certain that the reminder of his missing past was occupying his mind. She wasn't used to this kind of Shirou. The one she knew was the blacksmith who never failed to put up with her and was now risking his life on the battlefield for a stranger he'd only met for around a week. He shouldn't be so caught up in something he couldn't change at present.

She grunted, suddenly clapping Shirou in the back.

He stumbled forward.

"HEY," Shirou shouted in complaint. "I'm carrying enough as it is and it's hard to balance all…" His words trailed off.

Perhaps because Mordred had never attempted comforting anyone before, her actions could be considered brash, but imagining the look on Mordred's face, Shirou could understand her intentions. She probably noticed his troubles at the reminder of his missing past and wanted to console him. However, she had no idea how.

Mordred's current expression was a mixture of 'maybe I shouldn't have done that,' and 'I still want to help though." Her lips didn't seem to know if she wanted to smile or scowl at him, and instead created something in-between. With the small flush on her cheeks, it was hard for Shirou to hold anything against her when it was clear that she had just wanted to help in some way.

Images of a little girl happily munching on roasted chicken legs surfaced in his mind; the girl smiling at him with bulging cheeks and oil smears stabbing at his psyche like a dagger. It was almost too much to take when he realized just how similar Mordred's facial profile was to the child of his past. Were they in fact the same person? He couldn't be sure, but it wasn't something he wanted to think about now.

He shook his head and smiled.

"Thank you," he said.

There was no point in getting stuck up over fragmented memories he still had no answers to. Those answer should come in time anyway. For now, he would focus on the present.

Hearing his thanks, Mordred turned her head to the side and no longer dared meet his gaze. "Who needs your thanks anyway," she huffed.

Looking at her behaviour, Shirou didn't say anything and simply allowed her to recompose herself.

Thereafter, he grew solemn with the sounding of the horns.

It wouldn't be long before the current army met the enemy forces.

The known leader of the Saxon army was a man named Alger Merns, a fierce spearman that had worked his way up the ranks through his own capabilities. Palamid had explained in a previous army gathering that Alger was exceedingly brutal to any enemies. He hung their corpses with rope to rot over abandoned city walls throughout West Saxons to serve as a warning for any with thoughts of opposition.

Hope lied with the King, and that was why Palamid and the other Knights fought in their own ways.

The coming battle was one where the Saxons undoubtedly possessed the advantage. Palamid's main priority as the commander of the army was to prevent Alger from completing the defensive forts the Saxons were in the midst of creating along the border. Should the Saxons be allowed to succeed, it would be almost impossible to drive them out of the country. Palamid knew that King Arthur and the forces under him couldn't afford to undergo constant siege battles with their smaller numbers.

Over time, more and more Saxons were arriving from foreign lands to replenish their casualties whereas the Britain's were steadily dying out.

The importance of the current battle was clear, and that was why Palamid had long since sent a cavalry to harass the Saxon supply lines before the main army arrived.

After spending almost an entire week marching, the hour of the decisive battle arrived.

* * *

Palamid pulled up on the reins of his horse, his expression beneath his helmet pale while a shiver traveled down his back.

"B-But that's impossible," Palamid swallowed, staring at the completed Saxon fort in front of him. Part of the fortification were made of thick stone while others were supplemented with numerous layers of cut wood. To make everything worse, a massive fourteen-foot wall surrounded the entire encampment, rendering the utility of the cavalry Palamid had brought to near zero.

Palamid's fists were clenched so hard that his knuckles had whitened and his nails were digging into the leather of his gloves.

Nearby, Marcus and the other thousand-man commanders wore grim expressions.

"Look over there!" Marcus suddenly yelled out, pointing with a finger. "These cheap bastards."

Following the direction of Marcus's finger, Palamid understood how it was possible that the Saxons had already completed an entire fort in such a short period of time. It wasn't that they built an entirely new fort, they built _over_ a pre-existing one.

The foundations of an old Roman encampment could still be seen protruding from stones in the ground, but to save time, the Saxons had reduced the overall reconstruction area. In the end, they were able to complete the fort even with the cavalry Palamid had sent months earlier to harass them.

Speaking of the cavalry, Palamid shifted his attention to the small unit of two-hundred riders galloping to his location.

By the time all the riders approached, it wasn't difficult to see the guilt and shame on their faces for failing their objective.

"Apologies, Captain. There were too many Saxons for us to distract fully," the Captain in charge of the cavalry stepped forward and bowed lowly. It was clear that the man was waiting for punishment, but Palamid knew the country needed every man it could get.

Palamid raised a hand and wordlessly gestured for the cavalry leader to join the ranks with the other riders.

Palamid gritted his teeth. He couldn't give up. Not everything was lost yet. If he could somehow just lure the enemy out of their base and into the open, there was still a chance at victory. A siege however was impossible, not without siege weapons which he didn't prepare due to the length of the journey and their shortness on time. Moreover, the Saxons presently outnumbered them four to one based on the reports he had read.

"Shit!" Palamid cursed loudly, the others near him sharing the sentiment.

Alger was no fool and wouldn't easily move out his entire army. Even if Palamid and the army showed up, at most Alger would send out a similar sized force to chase them away.

Silence descended over the area.

"Milord," Marcus said tentatively after a moment, urging his horse to ride up to Palamid. "With the situation as it is, I think it best that we-"

"Don't say it!" Palamid glared. "If you admit it now, then our loss may become a reality. Even if we can't win, we have no choice but to fight! We have to bring that fort down otherwise the Saxons will occupy strategic ground and be within several miles of our already dwindling lands!"

Palamid beckoned his horse forward, leading the charge without another word. All Marcus and the others could do was follow as the pitter patter of rain began to fall.

A storm was coming.

* * *

As Palamid and the other officers marched the army within view of the Saxon stronghold, it only took mere moments for Alger to organize a formidable force to face them. Rather than stay in their fortifications, many Saxons who were endlessly harassed during the fort's construction were out for blood. Although it was true that they could simply wait out Palamid and force him into a siege battle, Alger wouldn't do something so troublesome. Not only could Palamid continue to intercept the fort's supplies by stationing his army nearby, but Palamid's presence alone was akin to an annoying mosquito for Alger. The sooner the mosquito was swatted, the better.

Alger's did exactly what Palamid wanted. With a force four times the size of Palamid's own, Alger sent out an equal army of men to face off against Palamid. Unfortunately, the commanding leader of the army Alger sent out was not himself, but a subordinate.

Palamid's expression darkened. He wanted to goad Alger into leading the battle himself, but despite his fighting prowess, Alger was still a cautious man. The best-case scenario was that Alger would grow enraged at the loss of his forces and personally take to battle. However, on the off chance that Palamid won consecutive battles, there was still no guarantee that Alger would not just decide to reluctantly force a siege. In which case, Palamid was already preparing for the worst by sending a small unit of men to cut down trees to use as battering rams.

Meanwhile, as the battle started and Palamid ordered the army into an offensive formation, Mordred steadily became aware of a single fact.

"The commander positioned us in the rear?" Mordred seemed devastated with the realization, visibly agitated.

Shirou perked up as Mordred spoke. He was in the midst of tightening his loose tunic and testing the weight of his forging hammer.

"Is that really a bad thing?" He couldn't help but ask. Generally, in any clashing medieval army, the rear was always the safest unless pincered.

Mordred glared at Shirou at his reply before she pursed her lips. She greatly admired and looked up to the King, setting the King up as her ideal image of a Knight. However, no matter how hard she strived or how difficult a task she completed, it never felt as if the King ever acknowledged her. She'd comforted herself with the fact that she'd still been unable to pull off feats similar to Lancelot, but she was more capable of a Knight than Bedivere wasn't she? However, she still wasn't recognized for her efforts and contributions…

Did the King dislike her?

 _No_ , she was quick to deny.

That was impossible. Mordred could not recall anything she'd ever done to earn the King's hate or ire. In fact, it was her dream to be openly welcomed one day as a proper Knight of the Round. And for that, she'd just need to accumulate even greater merits.

"I can't stay in the rear, Shirou. I _have_ to prove myself," Mordred was adamant, but even if she wanted to go straight to the front line, directly doing so would count as breaking military protocol and she couldn't risk it. Inwardly a part of herself was already certain that Agravain could use her breach in military command to downplay any merits she could have had earned.

It was as if Mordred's back was against a wall, and Shirou wasn't naïve enough not to notice. He wouldn't pretend to be ignorant either. She was the woman who motivated him enough to leave his smithy. The same woman who sparked an interest within him that no woman in Exeter had ever done before and even allowed him to recollect pieces of his past.

He placed a hand on Mordred's shoulder, prompting her to stare up at him.

He smirked before backing away from his position in the ranks, much to the bewilderment of the other Knights assigned to Mordred. Many with friendly relations to Shirou called out to stop him, but Shirou shrugged off everything.

"OOh nooo," Shirou spoke in monotone, staring at Mordred in a deadpan. "I'm breaking ranks, who could _possibly_ stop me."

The Knights around Mordred blanked at Shirou's words. If they were strictly to follow protocol, then Shirou's action of leaving his assigned post was tantamount to enforced military punishment. In which case, that duty fell upon the highest-ranking individual in the unit.

One by one, the Knights assigned to Mordred turned to stare at her. Mordred herself had still yet to process what was going on, and by that point, Shirou had already gotten a head start.

Moments later, Mordred understood.

A feeling of warmth and companionship she had never felt before overwhelmed her as it nearly brought her to tears. Not one person she knew of had ever done so much for her. Breaking military protocol wasn't a light matter and even death could be implemented as a punishment, but for her sake, he didn't even hesitate.

She sniffled, composing herself in the next moment.

"You Fiend, get back here!" Mordred began to give chase, a spring to her steps she failed to notice.

The Knights assigned to Mordred that were left behind looked across at each other before shaking their heads. The impression they had of Mordred, Knight of One, subtly changed, feeling for the first time that Mordred wasn't as intimidating as her armour seemed.

* * *

Rain poured down across the battlefield, the air saturated with the heavy scent of iron.

Palamid thrust his sword forward, parrying the strike of a Saxon and plunging his blade directly though the Saxon's armour. On the pommel of his sword was the symbol of the Iron Forge. It didn't matter how durable the enemy's armour was, his sword cut through it like butter.

Panting for breath, he maneuvered his horse to continue the assault.

Bodies lay strewn around him, mangled in places and missing limbs. As the armies clashed, casualties were inevitable.

"Hold the formation!" Palamid ordered loudly, a grimace on his face. Already he had lost almost a hundred infantry even with his cavalry applying enough pressure to prevent the Saxons from collapsing their front line.

Still, the circumstances weren't good. With the sudden storm over head, the ground had become increasingly muddy which limited both mobility and visibility.

"Raise the shields!" Palamid continued issuing commands as the archers on the opposite side let loose their arrows. In response, numerous iron and leather shields were raised to deflect the initial volley. "Return fire!"

With the tension of the battle, Palamid was in a heightened state. His eyes would flicker with even the slightest of movements, and his body would react accordingly to oversee the battle. It was utterly exhausting, but Palamid didn't relent. His figure could be seen constantly moving throughout the battlefield, and it was precisely because of this that he noticed something.

_That beautiful bastard._

Palamid had no proof if Shirou had remembered anything of his numerous feats in the past, but seeing Shirou moving directly towards the Saxon army despite being initially positioned in the back line, the expectation within Palamid was threatening to burst through his chest. After all, what Shirou represented to Palamid in the past and in the present was hope.

"Continue the assault, don't give in!" Palamid called out with a burst of confidence. "Victory just may lay beyond the horizon!"

With a furious bellow, Palamid urged his forces forward.

In the meantime, Shirou was recklessly charging ahead with no idea what he was doing. Mordred was almost directly beside him, but rather than apprehend him, she was readying the new sword he had forged for her.

In only a scant few steps he would personally enter the battle zone. Perhaps his trepidation was showing, but Mordred gave him a reassuring nod.

"Follow after me," she said. "The target is the enemy leader. If he goes down, it's likely that the rest of the army will retreat back into the fort."

"Got it," he acknowledged, readying his hammer in his hands. In the very same instant, he and Mordred collided with the Saxon forces.

Mordred grunted, slashing out with her sword and forcing the enemy back with the sheer power of her swing. It wasn't just one person she literally blew away, but almost three people at once.

Shirou had never considered just how strong of a Knight Mordred was, but the way she was mowing down enemies left and right with a simple swing of her sword was impressive. As Mordred steadily proceeded forward, nothing the Saxons did seemed to be able to stop her. She was directly cutting a path to the leader.

Shirou followed suit, his hammer raised and bludgeoning any Saxon that dared strike Mordred's back. Strong as Mordred was, she still had her limits, and that's what he was there to cover for.

As the battle ensued, more and more Saxons were starting to pay attention to him. With every swing of his hammer, he didn't send as many people flying as Mordred, but instead, he sent them rocketing towards the sky like hay sacks. Fighting at the front, Mordred hardly noticed what was going on, but from the perspective of the other Saxons, it was as if they were tossing themselves at the mercy of a wild beast.

It was only after Shirou accidently hurled a man passed Mordred's head that she turned around to stare at him.

Surprised at her sudden actions, Shirou monetarily grew careless, a sword directly cutting across his chest.

Mordred saw red, the rage within her prompting her to yell out in fury, but she froze moments later.

"I told you before," Shirou said, pulling off his torn tunic to reveal a chiseled chest tanned bronze due to the constant exposure to heat. Not one mark was left over his skin, no traces at all. The sword that had just ruined his tunic was held in his right-hand moments before it began to whine and crumple in his grip. "I'm confident in my durability."

Mordred gawked, momentarily stunned and not realizing that she was staring for too long. Other than just Mordred, the one affected the most by the current situation was Shirou's attacker.

The middle-aged Saxon man was horrified before adrenaline kicked in and caused his eyes to dart back and forth. Eventually, his eyes settled on the weapon in Shirou's free hand.

 _A-A hammer?_ It was the last thought the Saxon had before he was sent flying nearly fifteen feet into the air.

It was like a signal of sorts as every Saxon near Shirou focused their attention on him, no; Not him. They were looking warily at the hammer in his hand with trepidation. Mordred too wasn't an exception, and in her carelessness, she left herself open to attack.

Eyes narrowing, Shirou didn't even consider it before hurling his hammer forward. Barely a forearm's length in size, it sailed with such speed that only a streak of silver could be seen.

It buried itself into the chest of Mordred's nearest attacker and it didn't stop there. The hammer carried such momentum that not only did it force the Saxon off his feet, but it buried the Saxon deep into the ground where it landed, killing the man instantly.

Shirou blinked. His physical capabilities not only allowed him exceedingly high defense against mundane weapons, but his offense was by no means weak either. He used just a bit too much force.

An eerie silence resounded.

Mordred didn't know what to think anymore. If before she had been skeptical of Shirou bringing a hammer to a battlefield, she had no complaints at this point. As far as she was concerned that definitely wasn't just some normal hammer.

As Mordred was lost in her thoughts, one of the braver Saxon men thinking on the same lines as Mordred had a decisive look flash across his eyes. An instant later, he made his way towards the hammer to try to pick it up. None stopped the man, and Shirou had thrown his hammer too far for him to reach it right away.

Although the scene of a warrior wielding a hammer in the battlefield wasn't that significant in Britain, it held a different meaning for those of Anglo-Saxon descent.

Hands trembling, the Saxon placed them around the hammer's hilt and pulled. Hard.

Every other Saxon's eyes widened in disbelief. No matter how much strength the man put into his arms, the hammer would not budge.

The eerie silence intensified, some Saxons giving Shirou odd looks as many had seen his seemingly invincible body. Shirou's red hair also signified that he wasn't of local descent.

As the Saxon continued his attempt to lift Shirou's hammer, more and more Saxons came to offer their aid to no result.

It was at this point that a voice startled all of them.

"That's mine," Shirou said, pushing everyone aside and lifting his hammer with one hand. Many hitched breaths resounded at the same moment.

It was as if everyone had forgotten that they were in a war zone.

Shirou's hammer was tailor-made to match his superior physical condition as a normal hammer would simply break after a single use. He had forcibly condensed numerous ingots of steel and metals by continuously compressing them together and then forging the product into the shape of a hammer. It was exceedingly burdensome to use for the average man, but for Shirou, it was perfect.

No Saxon dared to block Shirou's path as he walked, and it wasn't until Mordred continued her killing spree towards the Saxon leader that the Saxons snapped out of their daze.

They immediately attempted to reorganize their defensive lines, yet unfortunately, it was too late.

The leader of the Saxon army was positioned on a high-hill separated around ten meters from the army so that he could oversee the entire battlefield. Lightly guarded as the leader was due to over confidence, Mordred broke through the flimsy defense as surely as piercing through parchment.

"I-Impossible," the Saxon leader attempted to retaliate as Mordred engaged in a fierce fight of swordplay.

Breathing heavily, the Saxon leader was on older man who had grown portly and out of shape due to the relative stability of his position. He was attacking wildly without restraint, his movement impaired by the excess fat he had accumulated over the years.

Mordred only had to continue parrying and wait for the Saxon leader to tire himself out, and by then it would be over.

In the midst of the fight, the Saxon leader was furiously signalling for the other Saxons nearby to come to his aid, but they were rooted in place as Shirou stood in between. Recalling Shirou's earlier display, the way the Saxons were looking at Shirou was as if he wasn't actually a human. They hesitated, and that was all the Saxon leader needed to see.

Despair filled the Saxon leader's eyes; his reinforcements wouldn't make it in time.

Finally, after the fifth minute, Mordred drove her sword through the enemy commander's neck.

Mordred let out a breath. She won.

Even if it wasn't Alger Merns that she had defeated, surely a commander of an army would still give her a large merit?

It was with this thought that she opened her mouth and raised her voice for all to hear.

"The commander is dead!" She yelled out. Her voice was all the encouragement Palamid needed to press fully into the attack.

Palamid immediately led his army to destroy the western Saxon flank as Shirou and Mordred had already disrupted the eastern flank.

The area immediately erupted into chaos.

* * *

Mordred slowly felt the adrenaline leave her after her shouts of excitement. After all, there was now a problem neither she or Shirou could ignore.

Mordred's eyes dilated as she gripped tightly onto her sword. The feelings of euphoria and joy at bringing down the enemy commander were soon replaced by a grim astonishment.

As she and Shirou had caught the enemy by surprise and cut a line directly through the enemy forces, they found themselves at an impasse. Besieged on all sides, they stood at the heart of the Saxon forces with the path that they had carved out with sweat and blood disappearing as surely as water filling a depression in a marshland.

Palamid was already pressing the enemy on the opposite flank and effectively routing them by dividing their numbers. Panicked and disorientated, only death would await. Therefore, retreat was the only option, and it wasn't that the Saxons didn't want to, it was that they couldn't. The outcome of the current battle mattered too much and unless pushed into helplessness, they wouldn't cease hostilities. It wasn't as if Alger was a man that tolerated failure.

With the death of the field commander, more and more Saxons were yelling out instructions to bring the distressed army to order. They were the lieutenants and leaders of smaller units of troops that acted as army officials. Steadily, the Saxons were reorganizing their chain of command.

"T-They aren't retreating," Mordred whispered solemnly. It was hard for her to accept the current reality. She had acted recklessly numerous times before and plunged directly into the heart of her opposition, but none of her earlier skirmishes could compare to the current scale of the war.

There was one of her, one of Shirou, and nearly two-thousand enemies standing in opposition.

It was only after considering her current position that Mordred realized that she may have had been too naïve about how war worked.

She hardened the grip around her sword and prepared herself.

Shirou merely nodded at Mordred's words. He didn't have much confidence in taking on an entire army, but with his physical strength alone, he was certain that he could deal with a few hundred before he himself tired out. Which in hindsight, wasn't going to do much against several thousand. Even ants could take down giants if enough of them started biting.

The reason that he and Mordred had been able to pierce through the Saxon army before was because the Saxons were unprepared. Now though, they thoroughly fortified themselves under the orders of the remaining officers.

If he and Mordred just simply tried to fight without any plans, only death would await.

Mordred was standing stock still beside him, her breathing coming out in pants. She didn't show it, but she must have already exhausted herself in her initial warpath to eliminate the enemy commander.

Forcing her to fight now meant death.

He couldn't allow it.

No. He couldn't tolerate it.

Mordred's face surfaced in his thoughts, pale, and bleeding.

The image set his mind on fire as another face superimposed over Mordred's. One that he instinctively wanted to protect at all costs, and it was at that point that something snapped within him.

The heat of magic.

His blood began to pump violently, like the ebbing of the ocean tide kicking into high gear.

The reaction of Twenty-Seven dormant Magic Circuits evolved from bathing in the blood of a Dragon becoming something more.

A factory of potent magical energy thrumming to life.

A Magic Core ignited.

The pitter patter of the rain struck against his skin, the numbing cold a stark contrast to the heat exuding from within his body. His breathing was getting more ragged and drawn out, the exhales of his breath producing heavy clouds of condensed water vapour that soon began to form a mist around him. The mist didn't originate fully from his breath, but even from his exposed skin as droplets of rain evaporated on contact.

He didn't understand it fully, about what was happening, but all those things could wait.

Because in the present moment, he acted by instinct.

" **Trace, On**." Tendrils of blue magical light erupted from his hammer.

Thunder boomed across the sky.

Wind.

Rain.

And the crackle of lightning writhing like snakes amidst the clouds.

Interface patterns illuminated the sides of his hammer resembling blue runes that buzzed with a dull sound.

"S-Shirou you-" Mordred staggered back, tendrils of magical energy striking the ground and forcing her to shield herself.

Shirou had no time to explain anything.

"GO!" He yelled, hurling his hammer outwards.

At the same time, he pushed Mordred directly onto the path his hammer was opening through the Saxon lines.

Dazed, Mordred stood still before she finally came to her senses and began running.

Mordred soon hesitated, but Shirou would have none of it. "I said I'd be you're shield so TRUST ME!" he yelled.

Mordred pursed her lips and held back the emotions within her. The care and concern she could hear in Shirou's voice connected with her in a way that was impossible to describe.

She clenched her fists and ran.

"Go Mordred, don't look back and just keep going forward!"

Shirou's voice was faint, almost like it was distant, but Mordred hardly noticed as she focused on the path ahead. Eventually, she escaped the Saxon encirclement.

"W-We made it," she said panting.

No one answered her.

An ill premonition assailed her.

Mordred turned around and realized that she was alone, the figure of the blacksmith having not once left his original position. Her eyes dilated. No. NO she didn't want this. They were supposed to get out together!

Mordred nearly charged straight back in from where she had come from but as if sensing her intentions, Shirou glared at her from his position. She paused in her steps, biting down on her lips before standing still in shock.

Shirou was the one thing keeping the Saxons from immediately attacking. He couldn't allow himself to move as he held their attention with a riveting demeanour. The storm above seemed to center around him alone; bolt after bolt of lightning striking down towards the hammer that returned to his right hand, creating coils of writhing light.

His hammer was tailor-made to match his superior physical condition. Not only was it heavy, but it was exceedingly dense as a result, attracting lightning above like a lightning rod.

The entire scene fell within the eyes of the Saxon army and even those stationed within the fort.

It acted as a catalyst.

Faith acting as the foundation for a legend.

All Noble Phantasms were Crystalized Legends and all legends had their beginnings.

There was power in thought and belief.

A conceptualized weapon.

The hammer in Shirou's hand slowly became that which the Saxons thought it to be. It wasn't a traced weapon but something derived from accumulated faith and belief.

It was the birth of a new Noble Phantasm.

One that was still too weak to be ranked, but nonetheless possessed an otherworldly aura and grace attributed to something of its stature.

A mighty Nordic Hammer of myth.

Bringer of Wind, of Rain, of Thunder, and Lightning.

The hammer in Shirou's hands was steadily transforming, a legend crystallizing into reality utilizing the imagination of humans.

It didn't matter if it was a real Noble Phantasm or not. What mattered was what the hammer was perceived as in the eyes of all.

A bolt of lightning struck down, illuminating the area in numerous arcs of electricity.

The weapon of Thor, Norse God of Thunder.

Mjolnir.


	47. Chapter 47

The stillness of the air.

The rising heat of tension.

And the howling of the wind.

It was a tempest, gales of wandering zephyrs encroaching upon the darkening clouds above. Thunder and lightning, the hands of nature struck down with a fury, basking the violent plains in a torrential shower.

The bringer of storms.

Neither wearing armour nor fanciful dress, merely topless with forge-tempered muscles rippling with each minute movement. A Norse warrior God seemed to descend upon the mortal realm.

Silence descended, accompanied only by the crackle of electricity and a heavy breath.

Death in battle was the road to Valhalla, to the great hall of plentiful ale and mead reserved for the finest of warriors. Therefore, death was no curse but only the beginning, and all Saxons warriors believed in this philosophy.

Which was why it was all too stunning for Palamid and the others to see the Saxons frozen in place. Where were the fierce warriors that sounded the horns of Saxonia? The men and women who spat in the face of defeat and laughed as their souls ventured to the after life?

Mordred for her part sucked in a breath, her gaze riveted not on the Saxons, but on Shirou. Was this really the blacksmith she remembered? Recalling Palamid's previous actions in the army camp, Mordred was no longer sure. Just who was Shirou, really?

Her hands balled into fists, but moments later, she cleared her thoughts. It didn't matter who he was, just that he was someone important to her. The man that reached out to her when no one else did and let herself feel for the first time what it meant to have someone to rely on.

Her self-proclaimed shield.

Amidst the pitter patter of the rain, arcs of electricity steadily made their way up Shirou's arm holding his hammer.

It didn't have a name, but instead it embodied a legend extracted from the belief of the Saxons around. Different from common war hammers whose hilts were extended for two-handed use, Shirou's forging hammer was short in length and meant to be wielded with one hand.

The Mjolnir, the hammer crafted by the dwarves Brokkr and Sindri of Norse mythology was said to carry the defect of a small hilt. Coupled with the fact that each swing of Shirou's hammer sent grown men flying into the distance, each blow drove the Saxons further and further into disbelief. The final turning point was the fact that no Saxon was able to lift the hammer despite their efforts.

A weapon worthy of only the strongest of warriors.

The leveler of mountains and one of the most fearsome weapons of Nordic belief. A holy relic of worship that should _not_ have been in the hands of the enemy.

Many of the Saxons present saw red, their fury mounting and steadily whittling away at their fear and indecision.

"Accursed thief!"

"Give it back!"

"You are not worthy!"

Like a sea of hot-blooded bulls, the Saxons charged all at once. It didn't matter to them if they died or sustained heavy casualties, only the fact that they would die for a just cause on the road to the Great Hall of the Forefather.

Horns blared as even the surviving lieutenants and commanders lost sight of their reason at the emergence of what was akin to a Saxon national treasure appearing in the enemy's hands.

The ground shuddered with the roar of heavy-footed steps, the rough squelching noise of the mud underfoot accompanied by loud war bellows creating an eerie ambiance.

It was a mad dash, weapons held overhead and dead bodies trampled in disregard.

Mordred's breath hitched seeing thousands of men converge on a single location. She wanted to help, to move forward, but the path Shirou had once opened for her had long since vanished like water filling up a crevice.

Her anxiety mounted the moment she realized that Shirou hadn't even taken a single defensive action. " _Hurry and move you fool!_ "

Her scream burst out louder than she had expected, traces of panic, guilt, and urgency in her tone that raised her pitch upwards. It was perhaps the first time she had ever yelled so loudly but she hardly noticed as the pallor of her complexion fell.

Not again. Not again.

The words flashed in Mordred's psyche as the image of her returning to camp alone caused her to purse her lips, a shudder travelling down her body.

_The Knight of One._

As Mordred's voice travelled in the wind and the Saxons closed in on Shirou at all sides, it was like something clicked in Shirou's head. What was he, a blacksmith, doing on the battlefield? Memories of his present life came to the forefront of his mind. From his carefree days of forging steel and iron, to the face that changed it all. It wasn't just the sentiments of endearment, fondness, and affections he felt that drove him to make his choice, but because of a simple desire.

To protect.

_As a woman in blue had once done for him._

Parts of his skin were charred from the sheer heat of the lightning coursing over him, but it didn't matter.

A Dragon's roar sounded from within him, the magic core that formed at his center igniting into a blazing ethereal inferno of potent magical power.

The lightning writhing around Shirou suddenly condensed at the base of his hammer, forming a pillar that extended towards the heavens.

It wasn't a Noble Phantasm; at most, it was an early emergence of an object that could _become_ one from the gathered thoughts and beliefs of the masses, and yet it was enough to overstep the bound of mortals.

Gods were beings born from the thoughts of humans and influenced by the will of the people. The Age of the Gods was on the verge of utter decline, but they lingered still in the pagan beliefs of the masses. Omniscient but each only able to acquire a single personality. At the present moment, divinity was stirred by a catalyst.

A connection formed from a trail of divine sense.

Gods were no longer meant to interfere in the affairs of mortals, their duty to advance civilization relieved from their hands and retiring them to the past. However, exceptions could be made when mortals attempted to imitate that which they are not, stepping into certain bounds and jurisdictions not of their own.

Myth and Legend were simply made of overlapping folklore, and the hammer in Shirou's hands was a Key that tied him to a certain mythos.

The sky darkened, mid-day becoming night as the storm overhead intensified.

None noticed the change, only Shirou himself could feel it.

A type of conscience making contact with him.

 _Mortal, do you have the right to wield mine 'Authority?'_ The voice was weak, but held a boundless depth. The Authority of Gods that allowed for world construction, making things happen because one has the right.

Shirou couldn't even answer as a flood of foreign energy suffused his body. Instead, his actions spoke for him, his gaze unwavering with a single-minded determination. It almost seemed as if he wasn't human and when the divine sense looked deeper into the psyche of the human before it. What it saw, was Fire and Steel. An armory filled with armaments of war.

Finally, when the foreign energy within Shirou was threatening to burst him apart, a voice resounded once more.

_It is permitted just this once._

All the foreign power that Shirou had been enduring within his body suddenly shifted into the hammer in his hands.

A deathly silence emerged despite the charging Saxons.

It was as if time had drawn to a still, the droplets all around appearing motionless in the downpour.

_Come Wind._

A burst of air shot outwards with Shirou's hammer at the epicenter.

Bodies flew through the air, many Saxons flailing as they plummeted back to the ground.

_Come Rain._

A mist like shroud of water began to exude, forming miniature clouds over the hammer's surface. Bright tendrils of electricity crackling amidst the vapour, causing the surrounding Saxons skins to crawl.

_Mighty Mjolnir, let loose the storms, the battle cry of Valhalla!_

Lightning struck from the heavens as thunder roared with the furor of an enraged beast.

Shirou's head snapped upwards, his arms already a blur.

Like forging steel upon a forge, the hammer fell in a practiced motion.

Combining strength and fluidity. Draconic might with divine providence. Myth and Legend.

This single strike- Was of the Heavens.

It smashed into the ground with the clang of a meteor.

The earth ruptured, cracking before breaking into segments of upturned gravel and dirt. In the bellowing din, arc lights exploded into writhing chains of electricity, sparking as they came in contact with water.

They spread uncontrollably, the damp environment and the metal armours worn conducting exceedingly well and effecting hundreds at a time. The Saxons nearby convulsed, collapsing to the ground as their bodies twitched, froth forming over their mouths as the rest watched on in horrid silence.

Phantom images of charging bucks emerged from the destruction, their horns raised to ram across any obstacles, belated bleating noises echoing through the air.

Goats of blue lightning, the spirit beast of Thor, God of Thunder.

In a single attack, over half of the Saxon army was defeated, none knowing if they were dead or alive.

His chest heaving, Shirou panted for breath.

Using the hammer in his hands was exceedingly draining. It wasn't a full-fledged Noble Phantasm, but an object imbued with divinity. The energies were too different to handle and Shirou didn't possess Divine blood in his body. All he had was the durability of a Dragon which was quickly growing exhausted as the magic core within him dimmed. Patches of red formed on his body, the blood vessels beneath his skin rupturing from the exertion.

But no matter how exhausted Shirou became, he couldn't stop now.

He could retreat, to rally back with Mordred and Palamid, but it wouldn't stop the course of the battle.

Palamid would still have to shoulder the lives of those under him.

Mordred would _still_ be sent out to fight.

Their lives would remain in danger, and Shirou didn't want to take that risk.

He didn't want to participate in the war any longer. What he wanted was to end it.

Strength converging to his hands he tossed his hammer outwards as his bones groaned in protest.

A streak of blinding light traversed the scorched plains, smashing into the fortified gate of the Saxon fort and obliterating it in a deafening bang. When finally the light died, it was to the sight of a hammer lodged firmly into the ruins, tendrils of lightning running across its surface. All around the hammer was a massive crater filled with several hundred motionless bodies stationed near the area.

With the deaths of over half of the Saxon forces, the power of belief surrounding Shirou's hammer faltered. Gradually, the temporary divinity imbued in the hammer dissipated until it was the same as it had been before: An exceedingly heavy and dense hammer.

Left weaponless, the remaining Saxons didn't approach Shirou. Instead, as they looked across at his bloodied and haggard form, they couldn't muster the ability to retaliate.

How could they?

What they saw was a proud warrior that if on the Saxon's side would have been hailed as the incarnation of one of their Gods of War.

Killing an unarmed warrior was not the path to Valhalla, but the road to Helheim. It was a dishonour.

Not only that, but the nearest Saxons had already lost the will to fight.

Gasping for breath, Shirou staggered as he walked. It was the first time he could ever recall feeling so injured in his life as a blacksmith, but he welcomed the pain so long as it meant the woman before him could remain safe.

He trudged forward as Palmid continued routing the Saxons at the west front.

Shirou's feet dragged behind him until he reached the frozen figure of the person he wanted to presently protect the most.

Mordred.

She stood in a daze, staring at him and his current state with mixed emotions. The grip she had on her sword was weak, and she seemed to be wavering on what to do. To Shirou however, the answer was simple.

As Mordred opened her mouth to speak, Shirou simply shook his head.

It was better for Mordred not to dwell on his current state, but to act as herself. The brash Knight who decided to camp directly outside of a smithy. One with the dream to one day be acknowledged.

"Let's go," he reached his hand forward and pulled Mordred along towards the direction of the ruined fort, his sentiments conveyed by his actions.

It nearly overwhelmed Mordred who was neither used to interacting with others nor sorting the emotions in her mind. Only that the feeling was somehow comforting.

None of the Saxons barred Shirou or Mordred's path. Instead, as if they had legs of jelly, they crumpled to the ground, the traces of lightning in the area sapping away at their strength.

Reaching the gate of the fort, Shirou paused before slowly picking up his hammer that cratered the ground. The expressions of the remaining Saxons within the fort who hadn't yet given up instantly paled.

Shirou however didn't pay them any attention.

He turned towards Mordred at his side, his expression exhausted but his eyes determined. Unfortunately, he didn't realize what sort of effect it would have.

Staring at Shirou up close, Mordred noticed just how drained he appeared. His eyes were somewhat sunken in, his steps were unsteady, and parts of his lips were turning blue. As Mordred took note of everything, she realized that she couldn't take it anymore.

"Let's go back," she said softly, placing a hand in front of Shirou to stop him. "Palamid and the others should be enough to raid the fort. You've done enough."

Hearing Mordred's words, Shirou was caught off guard for a moment before chuckling, much to Mordred's ire and concern. She bit down on her lips and quelled the urge to knock Shirou out and forcibly take him away.

"As bad as I look now, I can still hold on," Shirou insisted, an earnest expression on his face. "You have a dream Mordred, and you will always have my support. Besides, there's an even larger merit waiting for you ahead. It would be a shame for someone else to take it away."

Saying that, Shirou shrugged passed Mordred and continued forward, not knowing the impact his words had on her.

Staring at Shirou's back, Mordred pressed a hand lightly to her chest before swallowing. When had she ever met someone who would do so much for her? She made a silent oath at that moment.

A Knight's vow.

Shirou's enemies were her enemies, and if anyone _dared_ to harm him in her presence, then she would clobber them to the brink of death. And if anyone _dared_ kill him, then they would face the entirety of her wrath to the ends of the world.

She swore it.

* * *

Alger slammed his fists down over the table of the strategic meeting room set up near the high-wall of the fort now left in shambles. The table shattered into splinters beneath his blow.

"This isn't possible!"

His below was so infuriated that the attendants nearby visibly recoiled, but their reactions weren't without reason.

Morale was dropping fast. Loud bangs were continuously echoing within the air, and the entire fort was compromised. It wouldn't be long before the enemy leader Palamid stormed through the wreckage of the fort's front gate.

The situation was bleak no matter how one looked at it, and it was even more unbearable for Alger when he considered his earlier position of power. The entire reversal of the battlefield was too much for any commander to stomach let alone Alger who commanded a force four times the size of Palamids. With roughly half of his forces either dead or incapacitated, it was impossible for Alger to remain calm.

Of the sixteen-thousand warriors he had initially, roughly eight-thousand remained. Alger still possessed the advantage of numbers, Palamid's army consisting of four-thousand, but what did it matter with the sheer power of the Mjolnir in the enemy's hands!

"Go, hurry!" Alger urged one of the messengers nearby. "The situation here may be lost entirely. Send word to the rest of West Saxons. The Mjolnir has been found and it's in the accursed possession of the enemy!"

The messenger nodded at Alger's words, her countenances becoming exceedingly solemn. The matter of the Mjolnir wasn't to be taken lightly and it could perhaps blow up to the point of declaring a holy war to reclaim the weapon of the Saxon God. Moreover, should the Saxons re-acquire it and a worthy Saxon warrior is able to wield it, what did it matter if King Arthur had a legendary sword in hand? The Mjolnir could fell the very mountains with a simple swing as depicted in the legends.

It was imperative that Alger disseminate this piece of news with all due haste.

"May Goddess Freya grant her blessing and be with you. Go, ride like the wind!" Alger shouted while drawing his spear from a shelf behind him. "I will hold the fort and prevent any from reaching you."

The messenger nodded her head once more before mounting her horse and kicking with her heels to urge her steed forward. She pulled up the hood of her cloak and swiftly rode in the direction of the fort's south exit as Alger began reorganizing his remaining forces.

Many of the remaining Saxons were in disarray, but with Alger's charisma and battle records, he should be able to beat them back into order given enough time.

The first thing Alger did after sending out the messenger was ordering his remaining commanders to settle the disorder occurring in multiple areas in the fort. Alger himself was getting ready to leave while continuously shouting commands into the sky.

"Break the tables, chairs, and doors! Use them to cover the breach!"

Alger's voice resounded, setting the Saxons into motion. However, it was impossible to fill the damage Shirou had don with his hammer with the few items the Saxons had on hand. The hammer had literally cratered the ground and obliterated the fort's gate. As a result, rather than covering the breach, the Saxons could only settle with piling their tables and chairs to make a temporary wall. Even then, Palamid was leading the army to attack.

"Wretched filth," Alger didn't even put Palamid and the others into his eyes. They simply weren't the problem.

_Where is he?_

Alger's eyes darted back and forth, looking for the man who ruined everything. Finding nothing, Alger jumped nearly six-feet into the air to get a better vantage point atop a destroyed structure.

Different from humans in the twentieth century, the humans of the past were closer entuned with magic and possessed superior physical capabilities. It was because of these qualities that the best of these past humans were labeled as heroes and glorified in legend.

Alger was already a hero of his people, possessing a strength that couldn't be scoffed at lightly. He was the pillar holding the last bits of morale the Saxons had left.

As Alger surveyed the battlefield and noticed Palamid actually gaining ground, Alger decided that he couldn't remain still any longer. Although he had yet to find his target, he would personally go to command.

Taking a step forward, he suddenly stilled as a silhouette appeared just off the edge of his vision. He was currently on an open area of grass within the fort, and near him, the silhouette drew closer.

Alger turned his head sharply and sucked in a breath.

"Sorry, but you're not going anywhere," Shirou spoke flatly. Tired and bloody, his current state didn't inspire much confidence, but seeing the hammer in his hands, a wave of terror enveloped Algar's mind.

T-The Mjolnir.

Its handle was short, and the head of the hammer was a thick block of silver metal resembling a mallet. It looked plain in all senses of the word, but it was anything but in Alger's eyes.

Held loosely in Shirou's hands, Alger finally took the time to assess Shirou's condition.

Shirou was basically wobbling on his feet, looking like he was seconds away from collapsing. Alger's confidence rose and he could literally feel the beating of his heart threatening to burst out of his chest as he readied his spear. I-If he managed to kill Shirou and return the Mjolnir to its rightful place, his name would resound throughout all of Saxonia.

Unfortunately, things were going to turn out differently from what Alger expected.

Shirou staggered backward, falling to a knee before entering into a fit of coughs.

It was then that Alger noticed the trail of motionless bodies left in Shirou's wake. A path created through brute force alone. It was clear that Shirou had long since over-exerted himself.

Alger was almost unable to contain the glee in his eyes. Without Shirou, Alger was certain that he could salvage the situation.

"You buffoon, you walked into your own death!" Alger immediately charged forward, his spear overbearingly thrusting forward.

As the spear drew close, Shirou didn't so much as blink as the edges of his lips curved up into a faint smile. "Is it really me that you should be concerning yourself with?"

Shirou's words threw Alger into a loop, but it wasn't long before he understood as a sword forcibly altered the trajectory of his spear.

" _Touch him, and you die_ ," the voice was accompanied by a cold fury.

Alger was forced to back off as Mordred came within view and gave chase.

Alger slid a hand down the shaft of his spear and rotated his spear in a semi-circle to ward away the incoming strikes.

It was part of a set of techniques he had honed since his youth.

Alger's spearmanship.

Lashing outwards, one spear seemed to become two then four as Alger's attacks blurred.

Mordred pursed her lips and retaliated. Her exhaustion from constantly fighting on the battlefield up to the current point caused her muscles to protest with every movement. However, she was too infuriated to care.

If she had been too late to interfere, then Alger's spear would have had struck Shirou. Although Mordred didn't know the extent of Shirou's durability, a pit formed in her stomach when she considered what could have happened and it enraged her.

Her attacks were almost relentless with even the briefest of pauses between swings supplemented by brute force kicks.

Alger winced as Mordred connected a strong kick to his stomach before he hastily blocked the incoming sword strike with his spear.

What kind of Knight was he currently facing?

It was if Alger was fighting not against a human but a rabid animal. It was truthfully beginning to wear on him.

"Fuck off!" Alger flourished his spear and forced Mordred off of him, keeping her at a distance with his spear's point.

Mordred's breathing was haggard, but the fury in her eyes had yet to subside. She was currently sneering at Alger from beneath her helm, yet she could feel that her strength was dwindling.

Her movements felt sluggish and her head was feeling light as her blood pumped madly within her.

She was tired, and Alger knew it through his experience.

"This all ends here!"

Alger took a stance, both his hands clasped near the base of his spear as he bent his knees for a charge.

Mordred held fast to her sword in a two-handed grip and attempted to strike first. However, the main difference between swords and spears was reach. By the time a swordsman could close in and reach optimal range, a spearman could have had already attacked numerous times. Alger was no exception now that he had forced Mordred a distance away from him.

Mordred's only defense was to block with her sword, but she had already committed to her swing, making it difficult to switch trajectory.

In the previous analogy of sword and spear, there was still one other analogy that tipped the balance between weapons.

A Shield.

A blurred figure suddenly appeared in Alger's peripherals before directly entering the trajectory of his spear.

Both Mordred and Alger's eyes widened as spear met flesh. Mordred was momentarily horrified, her eyes going bloodshot with worry but unable to do anything.

The strength of Alger's spear dug into Shirou's skin and seemed moments away from piercing through before the entire shaft split at the middle.

It was then that Alger knew that he had erred.

_Fuck._

Alger cursed, but Mordred wouldn't waste the opportunity.

"TAKE THIS YOU FIEND!"

Mordred stabbed her sword directly through Alger's chest, shoving it in and twisting. Blood gurgled up to Alger's mouth before he spat it out in thick globs over the grass beneath. Alger's body twitched before falling to the ground as Mordred pulled her sword back and the life left Alger's body.

Far from celebrating the victory, Mordred fretted over the state of her companion. She pushed Alger's body away before hastily making a beeline to where Alger's attack had sent Shirou tumbling through the air.

Shirou was sprawled on the ground, and it was only when Mordred noticed the up and down motion of his chest that her tension slowly left her.

"That was reckless you idiot," she rebuked, dropping down to a knee and propping Shirou up.

"We won," was Shirou's only response.

He turned his head to stare at the group of Saxons that had come too late to aid Alger and watched as they lost all morale. With Alger's death, there was no longer a pillar for any of the remaining Saxons to lean on and through Palamid's leadership, more and more Saxons were getting defeated.

So what if they currently won. Mordred didn't presently care about it too much.

"Shut up and rest already, you're injured," she placed her arms under his shoulder and hoisted Shirou up with a small groan. "I'll take you back to camp to get treated."

Standing up, Mordred and Shirou presented a peculiar scene. Shirou was almost an entire head taller than Mordred and for her to support him with her stature was somewhat hard to imagine. She did so anyway, slinging Shirou's arm around her neck and using her back to carry most of the weight.

The tips of Shirou's feet naturally dragged on the ground, causing him to smile wryly.

"Does it matter if we go back to camp now? I still need to be punished for breaking military protocol, don't I? I should at least look the part." Shirou spoke with mirth, but Mordred wasn't laughing.

She glared.

"Just shut up already. I'm the one that gets to decide the penalty so you have to do as I say. Do you hear me?"

Silence.

Shirou didn't answer. Frowning in concern, Mordred glanced beside her to stare at Shirou only to find his eyes peacefully closed and head bobbing.

"Shirou?" She tried calling out again. No answer.

He seemed to have passed out.

Well at least it made things easier on her.

As Mordred continued along, her gaze remained trained on Shirou. From his injuries to his exhaustion, he had worked so hard for her. He didn't have to push himself to seek Alger out and give her the chance to earn her merits, but he did so anyway. And at what cost?

Shirou's current state was evident enough.

Mordred looked left and right, before an exceedingly tender expression made its way onto her face. One that was both grateful and filled with inexplicable emotion.

Slowly, she freed one of her hands and flipped open her visor, turning her face to stare directly at Shirou before leaning her head closer in.

She kissed him softly on the forehead. A quick peck that didn't last more than a second, but it had her blood pumping furiously within her, the tips of her cheeks tinged red.

"That should be enough to count as your punishment," she whispered lightly as if trying to convince herself that her actions had no other meaning. "It's to your misfortune to have persisted with me this far and to be associated with me."

She fell quiet, her bangs shadowing her eyes. "I mean really, I can't understand you," she muttered. "What do you possibly see in me?"

She was a Knight of the Round only in name. Moreover, her reputation was notoriously bad among the other Knights. Therefore, what was good about her? The only thing she had was her persistence and personal motivations.

As Mordred was brooding on the matter, she failed to notice one of Shirou's fingers twitch.

Shirou gradually cracked open a heavy eyelid, the sudden development stunning Mordred into a fluster.

"Was that supposed to be my punishment?" he said wearily before grinning. "Then I guess I'll have to step out of line a few hundred more times."

"…"

"…"

Mordred had nothing she could say to hide her embarrassment, Shirou's words replaying endlessly in her mind. What did he mean a few hundred more times? A-A-As if she would even do such a thing again!

She had only kissed his forehead in the heat of the moment. She hadn't even been thinking, caught up both in her joy of victory and in the fact that Shirou was alive.

What she did, i-it didn't count for anything! But more than that, did he hear her mutterings?

She didn't dare ask.

"A shield shouldn't talk," she said gruffly, the tips of her ears growing red. She could only hope that Shirou wouldn't notice.

She redoubled her efforts to make it back to camp while supporting Shirou, too embarrassed to glance at him.

It was only after ten minutes did she finally compose herself enough to look at him again, and when she did, her expression quickly eased.

After his initial outburst, Shirou had long since passed out again. His head dangled by Mordred's side before she readjusted and allowed his chin to rest over her shoulder.

Mordred's lips curled upwards.

Rest well you stupid fool.

* * *

With Alger defeated and the remaining Saxons in disarray, it wasn't long before Palamid and the army seized the fort.

The captured Saxons that surrendered were delegated to Marcus to deal with, but it was unlikely that they would be kept as war prisoners. There were too many mouths to feed and Palamid couldn't just let the Saxons go either. As such, there was only a single option left and Marcus the one to follow through with it.

The pungent scent of iron would waft through the wind for several days to come, but it wouldn't dampen the army's current mood.

With the contributions both Mordred and Shirou had played in the battle, they were praised by all, yet Mordred oddly chased away everyone that came to congratulate them. It was only the Knights assigned under Mordred that knew that the reason was because she wanted to give Shirou a genuine break. She literally stood arms-crossed directly outside of the tent Shirou was resting in and glared at anyone who dared approach lightly. It brought no small amount of amusement to those in the know, but that was before Mordred grew irritable and gave them all black eyes.

Reading through the numerous reports piling up in front of him, Palamid couldn't help but smile. Everyone had earned a temporary respite and he had no intention of stopping the waves of celebration currently working its way through the army.

He himself was no exception to the sheer jubilation spreading in the air.

Unfortunately, all good things eventually come to an end.

"C-Captain it's urgent!" Marcus ran towards Palamid's tent looking frantic. There was an opened letter in his hands and whatever the letter said caused Marcus to constantly tremble in agitation.

Palamid frowned before extending his hand out in front of him. "Give it here," he beckoned.

Markus didn't hesitate in the slightest and immediately offered the parchment for Palamid to read.

The longer Palamid read, the more colour left his face. The hands he was using to hold the letter were soon threatening to tear it apart.

Sir Kay had been captured?

The King recklessly in pursuit with the allied army before getting trapped and besieged in the middle of Saxon territory?

Palamid's countenance darkened. He could well imagine the King's reaction.

If Shirou's death had left the King mentally scarred, then it was entirely possible that Kay's capture could lead the King to irrationality. The King had already lost someone exceedingly close once, it was probably impossible to ask that the King bear with the loss of another.

Regardless of numerous warnings, the King had ignored everything and devoted all resources to Kay's rescue, leading to the current disadvantaged situation.

"Damn it," Palamid cleared the items cluttering his desk with a sweep of his arm.

Marcus watched quietly before deciding that it was best to leave and give Palamid some time to think on his own.

Left alone, Palamid began to brood after forcibly calming himself down. He had to reinforce the King somehow but he couldn't set out with his current army. It was impossible for him to leave the West Saxons border undefended. Therefore, he could only leave with a small group of a couple-hundred at most to aid the King.

Yet what could he do with such a small number of personnel?

The scenario he was facing was impossible to surmount from every angle he could think of. Pacing, Palamid's feet eventually led him outside his commander's tent to peer out across the rest of the army still in celebration. His eyes naturally wandered to the odd sight of a hundred or so Knights with black eyes stationed in the distance. All of them were near a particular and unassuming tent, but the sight of the tent gave Palamid inspiration.

_That's right. The man of Miracles was currently residing in his very own army._

Palamid began reconsidering everything.

As Shirou had been resting ever since returning to camp, Palamid had not yet had the chance to congratulate his old friend directly. Moreover, with Mordred barring anyone from seeing Shirou, there was nothing Palamid could actually do but wait.

Returning to his tent, Palamid began to draft out a plan.

Even with Shirou, a few hundred individuals would do little to affect the King's situation. As such, he had to gather more men and form a proper army legion. An elite unit that could pierce its way through enemy lines to directly reach the stronghold the King had barricaded the allied army in.

Such a task wasn't going to be easy, but Palamid had something that no one else in Britain had. A chance to recreate the strongest unit King Arthur had ever employed on the battlefield.

The Unit of the Wolf.

Formerly led by Sir Anders and the other Knights of Wolfred, the unit had garnered too much renown against the Saxons and were heavily targeted at every battle. Despite the defense of their armours and the sharpness of their weapons, over the years their numbers had been effectively reduced. All that was left was a paltry amount with Palamid included. What was worse was the inability for the Wolf unit to make up for its losses as no smithy could recreate the magic enhanced armours and weapons of the past.

Although the Wolf Unit still existed, it did so in separation. Palamid was one such example. With their numbers reduced so heavily, Palamid and the others had no choice but to make better use of their skills elsewhere.

Bors had officially joined the Knights of the Round while Palamid found it more prudent to lead at the front-lines. Sir Anders, blaming himself for the loss of his brothers-in-arms retired into hiding which weighed heavily on Palamid's mind. Sir Anders and Palamid shared a teacher and student relationship and it was even Sir Anders that had once put an end to Palamid's arrogance. Just thinking that his teacher was somewhere blaming himself for something that wasn't his fault caused Palamid to worry ceaselessly.

Regardless, what mattered presently was the formation of a New Wolf unit. Palamid was convinced that when words eventually got out, Sir Anders wouldn't be able to sit still any longer.

Palamid was determined to rebuild the unit, and with Shirou's help it wasn't an impossibility.

But first thing's first.

He'd have to gather a new army.

* * *

When Shirou first woke up from his rest, it was to the sound of hurried packing all around him. Word through the camp was that Palamid had called upon a small group of elite Knights to gather for an urgent assignment. Naturally, Mordred was called upon to go, but she had been refusing to leave until Shirou woke up.

It just so happened that the moment Shirou opened his eyes and groggily sat up, Mordred peeked her head in through the flaps of the tent Shirou was in.

"You're awake," she nodded at his direction before completely stepping into the tent. She was dressed lightly in soft red fabrics with her helmet placed off to the side. Currently, she seemed to be busying herself by fumbling with things in the room, but it wasn't difficult for him to notice the way she was constantly glancing at him.

"So," she tried to act nonchalant but failed when hints of concerns flashed across her eyes. "How are you feeling?"

Her concern was enough to lift Shirou's mood.

"Stiff," was his immediate reply, stretching his arms up into a stretch. "But I should be fine."

Saying that, Shirou began looking around him, his gaze falling over his hammer which was kept adorned to the side and oddly bound by a chain.

Noticing the direction of his stare, Mordred smiled wryly.

"It was a precaution," she explained. "The captured Saxons were going crazy saying that it was sacrilegious for it to remain in your possession. Of course, their opinions don't matter as much as making sure that no one stole it."

Mordred shrugged before making her way to the hammer and trying to lift it. Her face turned red form the exertion and she soon gave up. "Not like any thief could lift this shitty thing anyway. The chains are pretty much just for display."

Shirou's brows twitched. It was likely impossible for him to explain to anyone that his hammer really was just an ordinary forging tool made a little differently from the rest. Even Mordred looked skeptically at him when he brought the matter up.

Shirou sighed, before standing up and getting dressed. Even from where he was inside the tent, it was possible for him to hear the shouts of Knights calling out to him and Mordred to assemble at Palamid's prompting.

"How long did you keep them waiting?" Shirou asked as he adjusted his clothing. The voices outside were growing impatient.

Mordred scoffed. "Give or take an hour," she said.

Shirou didn't bother replying at this point. Finishing his preparations, Shirou was the first to step out.

It was the first time the Knights in the camp had seen him awake since Mordred had dragged his unconscious body at the end of the battle earlier to a resting tent. They cheered loudly as soon as they saw him and all Shirou could do was blink in response.

Why did they all have black eyes?

The question lingered in Shirou's mind but he thought better of asking. It was then that Mordred stepped out of the tent with her helmet over her head. Almost immediately she was met with silence.

She frowned. "What the hell do you all want? I'm already on my way to the summons," she said irritably.

Despite hearing Mordred's words, none of the black-eyed Knights gave a response, but rather they circled closer to Mordred.

As Shirou took a closer look at the Knights present, he realized that they were all the Knights that had once been assigned under Mordred's command. He could even spot a few that he had carried armours for.

Recalling how she abandoned the Knights under her in the middle of the earlier battle, Mordred became guarded. "Got a problem with me?" She leered.

The Knights looked at each other in mirth before bursting out into laughter, taking Mordred by surprise when a few of them clapped her on the back.

"Nothing of the sort," they said in good nature. "Rather, we've all decided on something after witnessing first-hand the type of person you are."

One by one, the black-Eyed Knights took to a knee, their arms held against their chests.

"Mordred, Knight of One, we pledge our loyalty to serve under you," the Knights bowed their heads. "Please accept our oaths."

The sound of armours clinking resounded for all to hear as over a hundred Kngihts formerly bowed for Mordred's recognition.

Mordred for her part was stunned. From a Knight that was shunned by all, to a Knight that suddenly had hundreds of people willing to follow her, it was too much of a change for her to react.

More than that, she had to use all of her self-control to restrain the feelings threatening to gush from out of her chest.

Watching Mordred hesitate, Shirou cleared his throat before he nudged her with his elbow and nodded at her. To be a renowned Knight, the first thing all Knights needed was respect, and Mordred had already earned the respect of the Knights around her.

The current results were the fruits of her labour.

"Go on," he whispered into her ear. "You shouldn't keep them waiting for too long or others will start to notice."

"Ah, uhm, yes, yeah that's right," Mordred fumbled with her words, trying her best to maintain her bearing but failing miserably. "Hurry and stand up all of you. D-Don't even think that any of this makes me happy!"

Roars of laughter were Mordred's only response and by then she had somehow ended up behind Shirou's tall body. And NO. She was not hiding out of embarrassment. Feeling Shirou's stare on her, Mordred hastily retreated to the gathering location specified by Palamid while Shirou followed along.

Unfortunately, as the black-eyed Knights had given their loyalty to Mordred, it was their duty to follow her into battle. Therefore, no matter what Mordred did, there was no getting away from their mirth-filled gazes. The constant attention caused Mordred to feel so self-conscious that it almost drove her to the point of giving the Knights a second black eye.

If not for Shirou shaking his head at the black-eyed Knights to reel back their amusement, then it was quite likely that Mordred would have already started a brawl.

Luckily, it was then that Palamid cleared his throat and demanded silence.

Looking around the area, there were around five-hundred men, a full eighth of the total number of Palamid's army. All present could be considered as elites and it didn't take long for Mordred to realise this.

She immediately put on a serious demeanor and waited for Palamid to explain the reason for his summons.

"I know that this may come out as a shock for many of you, but the King has fallen under siege."

Palamid's words were like an explosion that killed all the excitement everyone had about their recent victory. Mordred in particular instantly bristled.

"W-What the hell do you think you're saying!? The King under siege? That's not possible!" Mordred was quick to deny everything.

The King she knew and respected wasn't as rash as herself. There was no way the King could be foolish enough to get himself cornered by the enemies.

Mordred's opinion was shared by many of those present, but one sentence shut everyone up.

"Sir Kay was captured."

Palamid didn't have to explain anything further. Everyone trusted the intelligence of the King, but they also understood how the King treated his closest followers. Immediately following the death of Lord Ashton, the King had recklessly charged into Saxon lines again and again without restraint, putting his life constantly in danger. It was if the King were drowning his sorrows away through the clamor of steel and the pungent scent of iron.

There was once a time where Merlin had no choice but to restrain the King and have Sir Ector give a firm lecturing until the King's suicidal actions finally subsided. If the King would act so recklessly at Lord Ashton's death, then it wasn't hard to imagine the King's reaction to Sir Kay's capture.

"Do you all finally understand?" Palamid said flatly. "What I have gathered all of you here for is to form a new army to aid the King. Time is urgent so pack your things and get ready to march."

As Palamid was talking, it wasn't difficult to see the way his eyes were trained on Shirou. Shirou was Palamid's hope, and memories or not, with Shirou, Palamid could have confidence.

Palamid shifted his attention away and waited for everyone to pack their things and gather once more.

In the meantime, a flood of emotions caused Palamid to sigh as he thought of the first destination he was planning on bringing everyone.

A place of fond memories and bitter experiences. The only place where the chance existed for Palamid to recruit old soldiers and friends before marching to the King's aid.

Bristol, the town where it all began.


	48. Chapter 48

Memories themselves are what make an individual who they are. It's similar to how children learn through experience and undergo personality and character development in adolescence. Stripped of one's memories, what exactly is left when certain parts of an individual go missing?

The answer wasn't something Shirou had ever deliberated. Life was simple living as a Blacksmith if just a little isolating forging steel alone in his forge. As such, despite knowing that his past memories were missing, he had been content to believe that he could make new memories that wouldn't change who he was or was going to be.

Left unsaid, he didn't want to consider the negative aspect of regaining his memories. For example, what if he'd been an evil person, a murderer or heinous villain of some kind?

It would be too difficult for him to accept given his current personality and mentality. He was kind, upright, and without doubts to weigh on his mind, focusing his all in his trade to produce the strongest weapon. The moment he began to question himself would be the moment that he would lose sight of what he truly wanted.

However, what if what he had truly wanted was something he had already forgotten?

The moment he had seen Mordred's face was the moment that the he realized that there was more to his life than just crafting swords.

His concentration that he had been honing for years shattered as the principle of not questioning his origins finally rammed into his mental defences and utterly decimated them.

 _Love_.

The thought assailed his mind at every waking moment, like a melody that stubbornly remained.

_I Love you._

Stronger and stronger still. A face on the verge of crying, ceaselessly attempting to reach out but never succeeding. Falling into despair, regret, hardship, it was unbearable. Why did it hurt so much?

_Protect you._

Enough. No more.

_Hold you close._

He didn't want to see that face crying, tears trickling down ashen coloured cheeks.

Seeing the anxiety that had been on Mordred's face in the midst of the battle against the Saxons, something from within him had reacted by instinct. An unwillingness to see that face contorted in grief both in his dreams and in reality.

Therefore, a rusted sword, its steel greyed, and surface marred, once again began to sharpen. To protect what it had always held dear in a burst of energy.

Pathways within the body that had remained stagnant suddenly thrummed to life for the first time in several years. The actualizers of magecraft, Magic.

A Magic which had congregated within him and beat loose the shackles of a seal in his mind meant for self-preservation.

His days living as an honest Blacksmith were over indefinitely.

A time frozen, turning once more.

Currently, he didn't know where he was or what exactly he was experiencing, but the world around him differed from what he was accustomed to. In fact, it was hard for him to believe that just a momentary lapse in his awareness while marching would land him in such a peculiar situation.

The sky above him was a deep orange while swords of all kinds were scattered upon a desolate land of cracked earth and upturned dust carried by the breeze. There was no grass or water, only caked dirt and grime; a biting wind that steadily wore away the strength of one's convictions oddly comforting in the feeling of reminiscent it brought to him.

He knew this place, this scenery, perhaps better than anyone.

Rather than panic, he was tranquil, absently taking in the craftsmanship of the swords around him and realizing that he too knew how to forge them.

Iron and steel.

Fire and the forge.

It was a grand smithery, an armory containing a vast number of weapons, yet nothing seemed out of place. Instead, there was a harmony found within the world built upon a simple motivation to help others, to help _her_.

His head began to ache, a hand moving to rest over his temples as he steadied himself. Even then, the dull ebbing within his mind manifested physically in the unknown world around him.

The vast orange sky promptly filled with a murky violet haze that attempted to corrode everything it touched, and yet in spite of all its efforts, a magic circle sought to contain it. It was an intricate design of revolving black markings and wisps of shadows that formed fiery sigils beating back the violet haze.

A woman stood beneath, panting heavily and arms outstretched to maintain the rotating sigils in the air. Her complexion was pale, an unhealthy pallor with beads of sweat trailing down her brow.

She looked utterly exhausted, her legs trembling beneath her yet still she persisted. For how many years, she could no longer count, but the moment she gave out, would be the moment that the Master who believed in a woman like her would cease to exist. For death of the mind was the same as death of the body. It was something that the woman adamantly refused to allow to happen.

By taking away and safeguarding the memories of the mind that the Witch's magic sought to target, the woman had effectively redirected the target of the Witch's magic onto herself. Unfortunately, she had been too weak at the time to forcibly dispel the magic and was therefore forced to endure without rest, leading to her current wretched state.

She needed help.

And she was gambling everything on the man who didn't even hesitate to free a demon like her from her bindings.

She believed in him.

He would come.

Definitely.

Blood trickled down from her skin, but the woman showed no signs of caring, her heels digging into the ground as she funneled more of her energy into the magic circle in the air.

Witnessing such a scene, Shirou could hardly understand it. Just where was the woman obtaining her motivation from to cope with her burdens?

Moreover, why did the expression on her face suddenly break out into a smile from the moment she noticed him staring at her, her red irises flashing within the shadows she produced?

Her knees buckled beneath the pressure she was enduring, a groan escaping her lips, but she seemed stronger than she had been before.

_Agatha._

The name flickered in his mind.

He moved to help in some way, unable to keep still any longer, but he suddenly found himself immobile, unable to take even a single step forward as the world around him began to blur.

The expectation in Agatha's eyes dimmed when she noticed what was occurring before she let out a long-tired sigh. Even if she had safeguarded the most precious of memories, it didn't mean that they were beyond reach for the host.

 _'Hurry Ashton,'_ she gritted her teeth. _'Remember who you are.'_

* * *

Shirou nearly spluttered as he was shaken awake, but Mordred didn't care as she nervously assessed him within a rolling storage cart. It was more of a wagon really with most of the necessary supplies and tools loaded on board.

Palamid had ordered that no one rest on the wagons to prevent overtaxing the horses puling the carts forward, but Mordred and the Knights of her unit seemed to disregard the rule. After all, it wasn't breaking military protocol if no one knew about it.

"Tch," Mordred clicked her tongue, concern evident in her tone. "I warned you that it wasn't a good idea to carry so much while marching."

Now that Shirou thought about it, Mordred really had given him a warning when he continued to offer carrying the equipment of exhausted Knights. When he had collapsed in the midst of marching, not only did the Knights whose equipment he was carrying feel guilty, but Mordred had been glowering at them at every waking moment.

The fact that no Knight had tattled on Shirou's current circumstances to the rest of the army was mostly due to the amicability Shirou shared with them. That, and the threat in Mordred's eyes as she had placed a hand over her sword.

Smiling wryly at the present conditions, Shirou made to stand up only to realize that Mordred was firmly keeping a hand on his chest and forcing him back down to rest in a pile of grains they used to feed the horses.

"What are you doing?" He asked bewildered.

Mordred didn't answer. Instead, her hands moved to grasp at the open ends of his leather-bound upper garments before she pulled. _Hard._

"H-Hey!" He yelled in protest, sitting up in a fluster. "W-Why are you trying to take my clothes off?!"

"S-Shut up!" Mordred's face had already been red from the start, but it only grew more pronounced as Shirou called her out on her actions. "The bastards outside said it was common for Knights marching to collapse due to the heat. Therefore, stop struggling and let me take your clothes off."

Mordred's words stunned Shirou enough to provide Mordred an opening where she loosened the bindings of his tunic and pulled it right off. She smirked at her victory, but quickly turned her gaze away when her mind caught up to what exactly she had just done.

"Are you an idiot?" As if to add to her embarrassment, Shirou's voice then sounded. Fortunately he was wearing a sleeveless undershirt beneath his tunic or Mordred may not have been able to face him directly.

She looked at him sighing in exasperation before growing irritable. "You bastard I was only doing it for your own good so don't get any ideas."

Shirou's lip twitched. "That's the point," he said. "You do know that the other Knights outside probably meant that it was better for me to cool down right? You didn't have to actually take my clothes off."

Mordred blanched. Admittedly she hadn't exactly been thinking in her fluster when Shirou had first collapsed. For some reason, she felt like she had been taken advantage of by the Knights outside the flaps of the wagon. The thought itself was stifling, but the current awkward atmosphere was of her own doing.

Shirou made to stand up, but once again Mordred pushed him back down.

"I'm fine already," Shirou insisted. "Besides, I shouldn't collapse again anyway." His earlier collapse most likely had something to do with the dream he had.

Unfortunately, Mordred would not be taking his word for anything at the moment.

She glared, a hand raising itself upwards in a closed fist as if daring him to continue speaking.

"Okay okay, I'm not fine," Shirou relented.

He promptly closed his mouth and obediently sat down within the wagon, making himself comfortable until Mordred's temper subsided.

As much of a pain as Mordred was at times with her personality, she really was a sincere individual. The problem was that she didn't know how to openly express her concerns in her words and in her actions. It made her socially awkward, but it wasn't too difficult for Shirou to understand.

She was simply worried for him.

"Thanks Mordred," he said lightly. "I'll just rest here for the time being."

Mordred crossed her arms while huffing. "You better," she warned.

As her face was still red when she exited the wagon, she immediately placed her helmet back on and acted as if nothing had happened. Unfortunately, Mordred forgot that the fabric of the wagon could do nothing to muffle the sound of her voice and that the Knights outside could hear every word that she had just said.

From the moment Mordred stepped out of the wagon, this point became fairly obvious when every Knight she looked at would forcible suppress their laughter. Mortified, she exploded when two of the more reckless Knights erupted into full blown laughter.

"You bastards what's so funny huh!"

She charged forward and beat them with her fists while giving no mercy.

The rumours of a black-eyed Knight unit would only continue to proliferate from then on.

_You're not alone anymore._

Shirou smiled from within the wagon, taking the time to relax in the harmonious air. For all the complaints Mordred had about other Knights willingly following her, to Shirou she looked far happier than he had ever seen her before. Then again, perhaps it was only because she was in the middle of a brawl laughing uproariously while she fought her way to the top.

Unfortunately, the happy times wouldn't last.

With the news that the King was in trouble, Palamid had everyone marching in a relatively consistent speed with few stops for supplies. Apparently, the main stop was at a town called Bristol where the King was raised in secrecy in his adolescence. Not only did Palamid wish to campaign there to recruit more men to come to the King's aid, but he had specifically returned to Bristol to gather together an elite unit.

As the days went by, it became more and more evident that something was weighing down on Mordred's mind as they neared Bristol. She was talking less and spending more time brooding at the front of the unit she was leading. At times, she didn't respond even when called out by others around her.

Shirou grew troubled with Mordred's behaviour, but wasn't certain if he should just go up to her and insist on an answer for something that may be personal.

Hesitating, Shirou forgot that it wasn't just him worrying over a girl who didn't seem to realize that she had others that she could rely on.

"Is Lady Mordred alright?" A slightly older Knight with greying hair strode up to walk by Shirou's side.

He was one of the first few Knights to willing serve under Mordred's banner at the aftermath of the battle of West Saxons.

The Knight's name was William Orwel, and like many of the Knights serving under Mordred, the man had a prominent black eye covering the right side of his rugged face. Oddly enough, he seemed proud of it like many of the others. 'A symbol of the Captain's affection,' was the common reply.

"L-Lady Mordred?" Shirou stuttered out in surprise. He glanced at Mordred to make sure she didn't hear, but she was still too caught up in her internal musings to pay attention to the noise around her.

Shirou smiled wryly at William. He knew that Mordred was trying to hide her gender in the army but it seems as if she'd already failed. Still ignorance was bliss he supposed.

"We'll, Sir Mordred's a woman, isn't she?" William scratched at the back of his head in confusion. "None of the other Knights had ever noticed it before, but the more time we spend around Sir Mordred the more evident it became," William explained.

In their brawls, they didn't fight while wearing their gauntlets, they fought with their bare fists to prevent casualties. In which case, weren't Sir Mordred's hands both oddly small and oddly soft for an individual trained in the sword?

Besides, the biggest give away was the sound of her voice. No matter how masculine she tried to make it sound, it was impossible for an average woman to possess the deep baritone of a man. It was even less likely for her to do so while flustered in her interactions with Shirou.

However, no one said anything amongst the Knights as it would break the status quo.

To every Knight willing to follow Mordred, they didn't exactly care if she was a woman or not, just as they probably wouldn't care if the King was a woman or not. What mattered was that Britain needed leaders to spearhead the resistance against the Saxon invasion. The Knights wouldn't question anything even if a woman took on the duties of a man in such a gruelingly violent era.

Besides, they were fine with Palamid, so there was no reason for doubt.

Most likely, Palamid would by crying if he ever heard the common consensus amongst the Knights regarding him to be woman. Worse, he'd yet to settle past debts with Merlin let alone discover a cure.

Shirou couldn't deny William's and the other Knights observations so he simply nodded his head in response to William's words.

William gave a knowing look before coughing into his hand and gaining some semblance of seriousness.

"Back onto the topic, but do you know about anything that could be bothering Lady Mordred? Her silence doesn't suit her as much as her refreshingly brash, juvenile, and naïve attitude," William asked in a disgruntled manner, a hand brushing the stubble of his beard. "Perhaps if my fellow brothers and I started another brawl she'd join in?"

Shirou was quick to dissuade William of such an idea.

Although Palamid had yet to say anything on the matter, randomly breaking into a brawl in the midst of a military expedition was not smiled upon. The reputation of the Black-Eyed Knights was already becoming questionable as it was, and he feared that they would one day isolate themselves from the other Knights.

"I'll think of something, so can you and the others just promise me that you'll hold yourselves back?" Shirou asked.

William nodded his head before gesturing to the other Knights around him who were already unequipping their gauntlets in preparation for a fist-fight. They began murmuring in discontent but William silenced them with a stern reprimand lest their rambling attract Mordred's attention who was leading at the front.

When the Knights were finally settled, William turned his attention back to Shirou and smiled.

"I hope you already know that Lady Mordred seems to rely a lot on you," William crossed his arms and grunted good naturedly. However, there was a sharpness in his bearings that suddenly became more prominent. "Therefore, you better make sure that she stays happy or you'll be having problems with me and the boys here."

Shirou let out a voiceless laugh. "Right then," he said in conformation.

"Good lad!" William clapped Shirou on the back before to marching in line with his fellow of Knights.

Shirou smiled in exasperation. As much as he was fully aware that he had just been threatened, it meant that there now more people who would stick up for Mordred even if he wasn't around.

In regards to Mordred herself, he decided that he would consider what exactly he would do after arriving in Bristol as nothing would change in the fact that they still had to march there.

Well, if he was to be more truthful, he wasn't exactly marching.

The wheels of the wagon continued to role while being pulled by the horses with him inside it.

If there was one thing that didn't change despite Mordred's brooding, it was that she was adamant that he not over exert himself. Any indication that he was attempting to get off the wagon was met with an eerie level of intuition as Mordred turned around to scowl at him.

It was the one action Shirou realized could get Mordred to stop thinking about whatever was on her mind, so he began doing it consistently until Mordred had just about gotten fed up with him and decided to march directly into the carriage.

She was literally at an arm's length away from him while glancing at him in warning every so often, her helmet placed to the side.

William and the other Knights were secretly giving Shirou gestures of approval, but he had a hard time responding without getting caught.

In the silence between the two, Mordred was gradually beginning to brood once again.

It wasn't something Shirou wanted to see, so against his better judgment, he shifted his position and sat himself directly next to her.

Mordred turned her face to stare at him, but he only grunted as he crossed his arms.

"Whatever you're thinking about, it'll be fine," he spoke reassuringly without looking at her.

She made to rebuke him, but ultimately changed her mind when he slung his arm over her shoulder and grinned. She tuned her face away, unable to meet his gaze without growing flustered and lashing out.

Realizing that he was doing nothing else but showing his support for her, Mordred's expression softened, but she still didn't speak out. A feeling of contentedness was the only thing in her mind. Besides, Shirou himself didn't mind holding her to prevent her from brooding. He'd do so all the way up until Bristol if he had to.

He adjusted the arm he had around Mordred to bring her head to rest over his shoulder, ignoring the redness of her face. She could hit him, struggle even, but he wouldn't let go because he knew that Mordred needed someone to rely on.

Whatever was going through Mordred's mind, Shirou could put up with it until she was willing to tell him.

Until then, he rested his head over hers.

He could wait.

* * *

Bristol was a town that was thriving. Built near the coast, Bristol had plenty of fertile land both for agriculture and development, allowing it to become a central supply station amongst the towns in the alliance against the Saxons.

Over the years, the importance Bristol had in the defence against Britain's invaders only increased with its strategic value and history it involved.

It was the town at the center of Legends.

King Arthur and his Knights.

Duke Wolfred and the Knights of the Wolf.

And Young Lord Ashton, the most famous amongst the locals. For Lord Ashton was both a legend that had lived and died unlike King Arthur who was still leading the resistance forces.

Many of the townsfolk in Bristol still recalled the red-haired child that had walked through Bristol's streets and frequented the local craftsman shops accompanied by another child.

It was the child that would later go on to be credited as a Hero of the common folk due to the farming system which saved thousands of lives during the winter. Furthermore, the other titles that followed his name made it so that none in Britain had not heard of him and his relationship to the King.

Lord Ashton, the First Knight.

They were said to have been the best of friends where one would risk their life for the other without hesitation.

In a tragic turn of events, it was rumoured that the King had gotten himself involved in too deep of a burden, and Lord Ashton had sacrificed himself to save the King's life. Of course, the story was more hearsay if anything, but it became harder to refute when the façade of the expressionless King shattered during a gathering to garner the support of the nobility.

The King had left the gathering without a word on that day and didn't speak to anyone in the following three. As a result, the gathering turned into a failure, with many Nobles that knew the late Duke Ashton unable to put their trust in the new King.

Regardless of all the rumours, the fact that Bristol was the origin of it all practically made the town a sacred land where Heroes were born and raised. In which case, Bristol was flooded by waves upon waves of immigrants that Palamid was intending to recruit.

Arriving at Bristol, Palamid pulled on the reigns of his horse and smiled wistfully.

It had been a long time since he had returned, and everything around him was bringing him a sense of nostalgia. The trees, the breeze, and the fact that with him was a man who made the journey back to Bristol all the more meaningful.

"Marcus, bring up the rear and set camp at the eastern lodgings of the town," Palamid ordered.

As one of Palamid's four Generals and a direct adjutant, Marcus already knew what needed to be done even without Palamid ordering him.

"Leave it to me," Marcus said before his expression twisted. "My Lord, do you happen to know what should be done with Lord Ashton's hammer?"

Palamid's expression stilled.

The topic regarding Shirou's hammer had actually been giving Palamid headaches. On one hand, the Saxon's seemed to view it as some kind of Holy Weapon of their faith and would stop at nothing to possess it. Palamid couldn't even attempt to use misinformation to confuse the Saxons as there was no denying the capabilities it displayed in battle to thousands of individuals.

The amount of minor attacks launched on the convoy of Knights Palamid was leading was not small, however due to the fact that Shirou and Mordred's units marched at the back, they were unaware of just how much trouble the hammer was bringing.

Palamid was fine combating against regular soldiers and infantry, but religious fanatics were on a whole other level of crazy.

Palamid shuddered at the thought and erased it from his mind.

"Where's the hammer now?" Palamid inquired.

Marcus simply pointed up.

Palamid's lip twitched as he spotted the hammer sailing through the air from its initial launch point from the back of the convoy.

Due to the sheer weight of the hammer, it was impossible to transport it by normal means. The supply wagons would break if the hammer was loaded onto them and even then, if the wagons didn't break, then the horses would still be unable to pull them anyway.

Only Shirou could lift the hammer while others struggled to even pull it. As such, Palamid had been content to just allow Shirou to hold onto it, but it all changed when Shirou suddenly collapsed to heat exhaustion.

Mordred, the commanding Knight of the rear guard called for a full stop of her entire unit until Shirou woke up. Even then, Mordred refused to allow Shirou to walk on his own anymore, meaning the hammer had to be transported somehow.

With no one able to lift it, and nothing available to transport it, Mordred irritably summed up the only logical conclusion.

'Just throw the damn thing."

Every so often throughout the journey to Bristol, it was a common sight to see a hammer sailing far above the convoy's heads and cratering in the distance until Mordred's unit reached the point of impact and threw it all over again. Believe it or not, the sight instigated any Saxon nearby into action, none of them able to keep still.

Palamid's headache only continued to grow worse.

"Tell Shirou that he's to keep that hammer with him at all times, and to stop listening to Mordred's goading to see just how far he can throw," Palamid spoke with exasperation, dismissing Marcus before the man could convey anymore issues.

Palamid didn't have time for anything else.

He kicked his heels and spurred his horse forward into a gallop.

His father Duke Ferdinand had long since procured for him a plot of land within Bristol but this wasn't Palamid's intended destination. It was somewhere else.

A familiar barracks where he had spent his adolescence learning to become a Knight.

The manor of James Wolfred.

Riding his horse, it didn't take him long before he dismounted and began heading in the direction of the large estate before him. After the passage of several years, the Baron-sized manor had undergone several upgrades during the course of James Wolfred's promotion to a Duke.

The outer walls were lengthened to encompass a larger portion of the land while various people of occupations were invited to maintain the household.

Upon Palamid's arrival, a group of maids and butlers welcomed him in a neat row at the front entrance despite their bewilderment at his sudden appearance.

Palamid gave them all a cordial greeting and simply moved on after being allowed entry. He was as familiar with the Wolfred estate as he was with his own home since he had spent the better part of his life raised within. As such, he didn't hesitate when he crossed the training fields and moved directly towards the main study of the estate located adjacent to the barracks.

Walking down the halls, Palamid abruptly pushed open a large set of oaken doors to reveal a youth in his twenties meticulously working over a desk at the far end of the room. His brown hair had become more scraggily and dark circles had formed under his eyes, but within his haggard exterior, there was a strength and will not be underestimated.

The youth glanced up from the moment Palamid opened the study's doors and broke out a smile.

"I didn't think you'd return after adamantly deciding to lead your own army of Knights," the youth spoke in jest before rubbing his temples. "And before you ask, no. Sir Anders has not yet come to visit."

Palamid pulled off his helmet and allowed his hair to freely fall down his back. A neutral expression appeared on Palamid's face before it eased into a fond greeting.

"It's been a long time hasn't it," Palamid greeted the Son of Wolfred in front of him.

"Indeed," the Son of Wolfred nodded his head. "We haven't met like this since the Wolf Unit disbanded."

Palamid sighed before stepping forward and taking a seat in a vacant chair. It was made of polished wood with a feather cushion for comfort.

"From the looks of it, you've already taken over for your father?" Palamid eyed the Noble cape the Son of Wolfred now wore over his shoulders.

The Son of Wolfred simply nodded. "As of last month, yes. My father deserves his retirement and he's currently preoccupied with political and business documents."

Palamid raised a brow. "If you're already the new head of he Wolfred Family, will you not use your name yet?"

The Son of Wolfred shook his head. "No. I am not yet worthy to use that name until I've accomplished something greater than what my father has done in his life time like his father before him."

"A family tradition? Understandable but you've got a lot to try and overcome," Palamid expressed his opinion.

The Son of Wolfred frowned before leaning back in his chair, opening the drawer of his desk, and pulling out a flask of wine.

Palamid grinned as he shuffled closer, the Son of Wolfred pouring him a cup.

"I didn't take you to drink on duty, but I won't complain," Palamid took the cup of wine the Son of Wolfred had offered him and drank it in a single mouthful. The burning sensation travelling down his throat let him feel as if he was alive as a flush made its way onto his face.

The Son of Wolfred didn't reply right away. After offering Palamid a cup of wine, the Son of Wolfred idly swished the wine in his cup as a silence descended.

"I didn't take myself to be one to drink on duty either, but neither did I believe that good-for-nothing hero would kick the bucket before people like us trying to catch after his shadow." The Son of Wolfred continued to swirl the wine in his drink using his fingers, missing the way Palamid's expression flickered.

Palamid remained quiet and simply waited for the Son of Wolfred to make his point.

The Son of Wolfred straightened his back and shifted his attention entirely onto Palamid. The passing years had forced the Son of Wolfred to mature and take on traits similar to his father. He was now meticulous and regarded every report sent to him with the utmost seriousness. It was no longer the job of his father to protect the well being of the people in his territory, but his. He couldn't stay as naïve, snobish, and conceited as he had been in his youth flaunting his status as a young Noble.

The Son of Wolfred was now more of an upright individual.

"Although I'm gladdened that you've come to pay an old friend a visit, but why have you really come Palamid? Unless it was an emergency you would not have taken the time to come here given the dire straights of the King." The Son of Wolfred cut right to the point. "Knowing you, you should have headed straight towards the battlefield."

Palamid was impressed with his friend's growth and grew serious in response.

"You know as well as I do what it means for me to come back here of all places instead of help Arthur at the battlefront." Palamid extended out his hand. "Join me. Together we'll recruit able-bodied men and form a new Wolf Unit to pierce a path through the battlefield."

To say that the Son of Wolfred wasn't tempted by Palamid's offer would be a lie. For a moment, it was like he was reliving the past again. Soaring out towards an adventure upon a flaming bird and participating in wars in the midst of his adolescence. Earning glory, and earning honours. Unfortunately, there was a problem.

"What's gotten into you, Palamid?" The Son of Wolfred shook his head while staring at Palamid's outstretched palm. "The present isn't the same as the past. Neither of us are him and it's not like we haven't tried to live up to his legacy either."

"We?" Palamid was distinctly certain that the Son of Wolfred was not referring to him when the Son of Wolfred said 'we' as Palamid was often deployed on the battlefield. Thereby making it impossible for him to have interacted with the Son of Wolfred in that timeframe.

"Yes, we," a voice answered in the Son of Wolfred's stead.

A woman who had been sitting quietly at the edge of the study promptly made herself known. Her hair was smooth like silk, running down over the soft robes she wore that accentuated her curves as a woman. Her bearings appeared dignified and an air of superiority exuded from her subconsciously, but it wasn't exactly her fault that the standards of the Barthomeloi were so strict.

"I-It's you," Palamid stuttered out in surprise when he laid eyes on the woman.

"It has been a long time hasn't it, Sir Palamid," the woman curtsied. "Allow me to reintroduce myself. I am Emily Barthomeloi, next in line for the succession of the Barthomeloi family of magi. I was not allowed out for several years due to various reasons, but I have since been acknowledged by my elders and granted permission to tour the world without embarrassing the family name."

Palamid remained silent for he could feel a change in the air as Emily talked. Even without seeing it, he could understand it due to his time staying near Shirou.

It was the workings of magic.

"You've become a witch?" Palamid muttered in surprise.

Emily shook her head. "The correct term is magus," she spoke softly. "Then again the knowledge is to be sworn to secrecy but I'm not like my family elders too stuck up in tradition."

Palamid didn't bother asking Emily to elaborate, he was more concerned with what the Son of Wolfred meant with his earlier words.

"What did the both of you try to do together exactly?" Palamid asked.

Emily furrowed her brows before taking a seat near Palamid and explaining.

"We wanted to form a unit to help Arthur in Shirou's memory," Emily said. "However, it was more difficult than it seemed. Competent in magic as I am now, I still don't have the confidence to pull of the feats Shirou had in his youth. I don't have the charisma or disposition for it."

"Not even just that," the Son of Wolfred interjected while looking at Emily. "I'm sure your magic is capable enough to alter a battlefield, but the main problem is that no one knows you. The allure you would have to create an elite unit pales in comparison to the influence Shirou would have as the Young Lord Ashton."

As the Son of Wolfred and Emily continued to discuss with each other, the two of them finally noticed the smile creeping its way onto Palamid's face.

"The fuck's wrong with you?" The son of Wolfred was the first to express himself.

Emily simply frowned and looked to Palamid for an answer.

As Palamid opened his mouth to speak, a blaring commotion occurred outside.

People were running and shouting frantically not in fear, but in an uncontrolled excitement. The entirety of the town seemed to be caught up in it as well. The origin of the noise seemed to stem from the specialty district of the town which was comprised of various smithies and craftsman professions.

Palamid seemed to have a pretty solid idea about what was going on.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and inwardly began admonishing himself.

What did he think would happen?

If he could recognize Shirou, then what did that mean for the craftsman and townsfolk who worked with Shirou in his youth?

It would be the same as suddenly meeting the Hero of Legend.

Worse, it was in Bristol, the town where it all began.

* * *

- **Several hours earlier.**

Marcus, one of the four Generals of the army led by Palamid was strictly supervising the unit led by Mordred as they set up camp on the east-side of Bristol.

Despite knowing that Marcus was supposedly monitoring the entire unit, Shirou felt it quite obvious that it was he and his hammer who was the target of scrutiny. Everywhere he went, Marcus's eyes would always follow him without question.

Shirou furrowed his brows in annoyance. As fairly tolerant as he was, being stared at without him having done anything wrong was still uncomfortable. Still, that didn't mean that Marcus was doing anything too outrageous to warrant any real animosity. Therefore, Shirou let it go while unpacking his belongings in a tent he shared with Mordred.

Speaking of which, he hadn't paid much notice of it before, but where exactly was Mordred?

He had separated from her when the two of them had arrived at Bristol and dismounted from the wagon.

Glancing back and forth, he was quick to realize that she was nowhere near where the unit of Knights were camping. Instead, as he narrowed his eyes, he noticed her sneaking off in the distance.

He raised his brow.

It was unlike Mordred to leave off on her own, granted she did the same thing in Exeter but she was different from the past. She had people who actually wanted her company in the army. There was no reason for her to distance herself.

Recalling how Mordred had been brooding over the course of the journey, he decided that he couldn't possibly just leave her alone.

Hurriedly dropping his things, he immediately took off in the direction Mordred had left in only to halt in his tracks.

"I don't believe camp is completed yet," Marcus tried to speak sternly, but the realization that he was impeding Lord Ashton's way took away the persuasive ability of his words.

Marcus shook his head. He had been given a task by Palamid and he'd damn well see it through.

"I'd advise you to turn back for the time being," Marcus said politely.

Shirou kept silent, his gaze not once shifting to Marcus as he didn't want to lose sight of Mordred.

"Say, you were the one who was interested in seeing my hammer before, right?" Shirou asked slowly.

Marcus nodded his head absently. "Uhm, yes, that would indeed be me."

After seeing the capabilities of the hammer and the importance the Saxons had placed on it, Marcus had long since grown curious. The only problem was that he didn't think himself to have a high enough standing to request to see such a peerless weapon from an individual such as Lord Ashton. Of course, that didn't stop him from spreading his intentions through the Knights in the army hoping that Lord Ashton would actually agree to his request.

Hearing Marcus's reply, Shirou promptly grinned. "It's all yours to inspect." He lightly tossed the hammer outwards.

Marcus subconsciously grabbed the hammer's hilt, and before he knew it, he groaned as the hammer pinned him to the ground.

"Well as you're busy now, I'll just get going," Shirou immediately left before Marcus could say anything in protest. Even if Shirou _did_ hear Marcus yelling for him to come back, he could always pretend he didn't.

Running to chase after Mordred, Shirou took note of the fact that Mordred wasn't exactly headed in the direction of Bristol's center. She was moving slightly away from it by taking a worn forest path situated outside the town itself.

Following silently behind her, he fell more and more into a daze as he observed the scenery around him.

Open plains.

Quiet meadows.

Brown wheat fields.

The more he looked, the more familiar everything became until he was rooted in place when a particular house came in view.

It was worn and made of wood and packed thatch. Parts of it were in need of repair like a hole on the front door and damage to the windows caused by growing vegetation. He didn't know why, but he felt a nostalgia from within him that was unmistakable.

He closed his eyes, and for a moment, he could picture a miniature version of himself packing lunches early in the morning to visit this house everyday. And for what reason?

_Because she was there._

A shudder travelled down his body as he stared at the house and Mordred who took her helmet off to stare in reminiscence.

"So, this was where you went," Shirou asked, no longer able to keep himself still.

His sudden appearance caught Mordred by surprise as she hastily drew out her sword. However, she quickly sheathed it when she noticed that it was just him.

"Yeah, so what?" Mordred spoke defensively.

"It's a good house. You can feel the care the owners must have put into it for it to still be standing despite no one currently living in it," Shirou said his assessment.

Mordred simply nodded. There was a fondness in her gaze that Shirou had never seen on her before.

"Is it an important place to you?" He questioned.

"Yeah," Mordred said pensively. "It's Uncle Ector's house. I was brought here when I younger to learn swordsmanship when Uncle Ector was taking a rest from an injury in battle."

Mordred didn't explain anything else further, but her mouth gradually curved upwards. At the time when she had first met Uncle Ector, it was due to the machinations of her Mother who wished for her to learn the way of the sword.

Uncle Ector, despite being hostile to her when they had first met, he was kind. He had seen something in Mordred that must have had reminded him about something in his past. Since then, he treated Mordred like family, giving her a sense of belonging the likes of which her mother had never done.

_'The sins of the parent are not the sins of the child.'_

Uncle Ector cared for her in earnest. In fact, without his help, Mordred probably wouldn't have been promoted to a Knight of the Round. As such, Uncle Ector and his home in Bristol held a special place in Mordred's heart.

She had come back to seek comfort and guidance, the revelation that the King was in danger causing her to doubt herself.

Were her merits enough?

Would the King be glad to see her coming to the recue?

She was still unsure.

"Are you alright Mordred?" Shirou called out to her as she had been silent for too long.

"Yeah," she shook her head. "Yeah I'm fine." She turned her back to him, her expression pensive.

Shirou shook his head. There was no way Mordred was going to be able to convince him that she was fine with the face that she was making, her eyes downcast and mouth set in a thin line.

He stared at her, and she stared back.

The silence stretched on, but if Mordred believed that he would back down when it concerned her well-being, then she was wrong.

No matter how long Mordred stared at him, he refused to break eye contact.

_I care for you._

_I believe in you._

The messages he was conveying to her with his actions were worth more than any words he could come up with.

Eventually, she glanced down in defeat, the warmth in her chest causing her lips to tremble. The fact that Shirou cared for her time and time again were all that was present in her mind. She couldn't keep her insecurities to herself any longer, not when he kept staring at her with such sincerity that it was hard for her to look at him. Her heart was threatening to beat right out of her chest.

"I don't know if it's enough," she eventually said. "A part of me already understands that the King dislikes me so I don't know if my accumulated merits are enough."

Recalling Mordred's motivations so far to be liked by the King, Shirou found that her concerns were reasonable. She was still fairly new for a Knight and was hardly experienced enough to earn the King's recognition. What if she went and saved the King, but the King didn't so much as look at her?

The depression on Mordred's face at such an outcome was something Shirou refused to see.

"Then we'll make your merit bigger," he grabbed Mordred's shoulders and turned her to directly face him. "We'll make it so big that the King will be unable to disregard you and your services!"

"B-Bastard, you're too close and besides, it's not that easy to build merit!" Mordred yelled in protest, trying to shove Shirou away from her, but Shirou wouldn't have it.

"Then trust me," he said. Ever since he used magic in the battle against the Saxons, more and more memories were made available to him. Knowledge from a timeline far more advanced than what the current era could hope to match up with.

The King would most likely be caught fighting in an open battlefield. A plain with no sort of fortifications to provide cover in the midst of Saxon territory. There-in-lied the merit.

"Shirou you," Mordred made to protest again, but her voice grew exceedingly quiet when she noticed the intensity of his gaze. "I-I'll trust you," she eventually spluttered out, shoving Shirou away at the same time in her anxiety.

She clicked her tongue and absently began petulantly kicking a tree to relieve her of her embarrassment.

"Then head back to camp Mordred, there are some preparation I need to do so head on without me," Shirou said.

Mordred perked up. "You don't want me to come?"

Shirou smiled wryly. With Mordred's outward appearance with her armour, it would terrify the common townsfolk. As such, it was probably better for her not to come along.

"It'll be better if I go solo," he insisted. "It's not like I'm doing anything major. I'm just going into town to visit the craftsman and blacksmiths there to commission a trade deal."

Mordred stared at Shirou in suspicion, but she didn't stop him when Shirou turned to leave. Instead, warning him to come back early.

Walking towards Bristol, he soon entered the towns streets and headed directly towards the local market area, a specialty district where most of the shops were located. What he wanted to do now was order a large shipment of steel and metal to incorporate into the merits he had planned for Mordred.

A fortress suddenly springing up in the flat land of the plains with no shortage of food or water.

Moments after he had walked into Bristol, it was with a keen sense of awareness that he realized that there was something wrong.

He furrowed his brows. What exactly was going on? It wasn't as if he was trying to be conspicuous, but no matter where he went, gazes followed him.

It was even more exaggerated because the people shopping in the market would unceremoniously drop the items they had in their hands in shock.

One step, then two.

When one person began following him, more and more began to join before crazed shouts resounded throughout Bristol.

If Shirou wasn't frowning before, he was frowning now.

He was practically surrounded on all sides like some animal attraction with people pointing and whispering in his direction. As much as he wanted to ask what was going on, the answer was soon laid out front of him as every single blacksmith in the town bowed to him in respect.

"H-Hail Lord Ashton!"

"I-It really was him! I told you all it couldn't have been a mistake! He worked in the same forge as me when we were kids!"

"T-The God of Agriculture!"

"No, he was the Beast Slayer, I saw him kill waves of monsters with mine own eyes!"

"He wasn't dead, I told you all Heroes don't die! Those Saxons are in for it now!"

The quiet din of the market erupted into a full-blown festival that couldn't possibly be ignored, and in the midst of it, stood Shirou who had no idea the effect his mere presence had on the people of Bristol.

He just stood there dumbly, unable to process the fact that his past self may have had perhaps been just a _little_ famous in the world.

Someone began chanting the name 'Lord Ashton' in the air, the shouts becoming deafening.

Shirou's shoulders sagged as he was grabbed and hoisted up by the crowd to be paraded down the streets, thoughts spinning within his head.

How was he going to explain this one to Mordred?


	49. Chapter 49

If he was asked at any other time about what the hell was going on, perhaps he could have been more composed in his answer, but the current situation was ridiculous.

_How the hell did I even end up here?_

Staring around him, Shirou was straining his eyes to determine his current location. After the crowd of people had hoisted him up and paraded him around town, he had no idea where he ended up due to the crowd's erratic movements. At one point he was moving in the direction of Mordred and the camp, and in the next he was suddenly shifting in a different direction entirely as the crowd parading him around Bristol enlarged.

For the first time, he thought he understood what it meant to be kid's toy passed around without consideration in a children's gathering. Fortunately, he could be categorized as a durable type of toy much like a wooden doll made out of tough oak or cedar.

Sweeping his gaze around the area he was currently in, he was met with the awestruck gazes of women, children, and the local men who deposited him on a central plaza.

Organizing his thoughts, it didn't take him long to observe some of the familiar structures around him. The buildings, scents of food, and the humid temperature of the air were the biggest indication of where he currently was.

The Specialty District, or market place.

His lips couldn't help but twitch as he considered just how much time had passed.

Judging from the angle of the overhead sun, he had been paraded around all morning for the better most part of five hours like some trophy to be shared by the entire town.

No doubt Mordred and the other Knights would realize the abnormality of the situation, yet to investigate the cause in the exceedingly congested crowd was impossible.

When he considered the fact that he was deposited in the exact same place he began, it really did seem like a big waste of time especially when he remembered Mordred asking him to hurry back.

He felt like sighing, but he knew there was no point in ruining the mood of the crowd around him.

_Who was Lord Ashton anyway?_

From what he'd heard from the off-hand knowledge of the Knights talking on their way to Bristol, wasn't Lord Ashton a famous Hero?

It was hard for him to understand how a blacksmith like him could be mistaken for nobility.

He stared at his clothes, a simple brown tunic and woolen pants that were slightly rough but manageable. He was nowhere near the image of the Nobles depicted by the people in Exeter. Yet contrary to belief, the locals in Bristol seemed to look at him with even more respect.

"It's just like legends say," he heard on older man whisper. "He's different from the other Nobles."

"A Noble in commoner's attire, my admiration for Lord Ashton knows no bounds."

The chatter of the townsfolk only continued into more heated conversations, and he knew if he didn't do anything soon, he would be forced to stay for longer.

The thought that _he_ was Lord Ashton was a difficult concept to wrap his mind around as it actually hurt when he tried thinking about it, but in the current situation, he couldn't just blurt out that the townsfolk were all having some kind of large misunderstanding.

They had given him too much for him to do so.

His attention fell blankly on the grains, poultry, drink, and commodities that formed a veritable mountain at both his left and right sides. There was no way he could carry it all with just his arms alone, and instead he'd probably need two or three full carts.

With his considerations and the uncomfortable nagging feeling in his head, he reluctantly decided to play along with the crowd.

He stood up, dusting the dirt and grime that had accumulated over his clothes before straightening them due to the rough handling of the crowd. He made his face as neutral as possible to not give away his reluctance at impersonating another individual before opening his mouth to speak.

It was then that realized that he did not know what to say.

Standing there awkwardly, he inwardly shook his head and straightened out his thoughts. He'd just act naturally and let his body do the rest. Besides, despite being the center of attention of a bunch of strangers, he felt somewhat sentimental when he stared at them.

"Thank you all for your enthusiasm!" He spoke, back straightening and shoulders broadening.

He didn't notice it, but the disposition he currently exuded with the minute movements of his body brought about an immediate effect with certain veterans in the crowd who were still skeptical. To begin with, the majority of the townsfolk had only seen Lord Ashton for a few years back in the Lord's youth and young adolescence. Moreover, this was before Bristol received a high number of immigrants for bordering towns and villages.

The amount of people who recognized Lord Ashton for who he was, was reserved only for a couple thousand inhabitants who first made up Bristol in its early days.

The veterans in the crowd were people who met the criteria as Bristol's original locals. Many were older Knights in their forties, some in their thirties, but all had a common physical trait.

Haggard and sour expressions.

They were the former Knights of the Wolf Unit before it got disbanded due to too many casualties and the enemy plundering their enchanted armours and weapons. There only around a hundred or so of them in the plaza in the Specialty Distracted attracted by all the noise, but all of them present seemed as if they were struck by lightning.

Their breathing quickened, their hearts thumping audibly from within their chests.

Shoulders long since sagged and hanging loosely gradually began to rise up once more.

"I don't know what you all see in me, or what you expect of me, but I'm not any different than any one of you," Shirou conveyed his point. He truly believed in what he was saying as he considered himself and everyone else on an equal level. "Therefore, please take these gifts back and use it to feed yourselves and your families." There was no way he'd be comfortable with taking so much for free.

However, the crowd suddenly grew silent, making him worried if he had done anything wrong. In the first place, how was he supposed to know what kind of man Lord Ashton was? He prepared himself to face a mutiny in the crowd, head turning left and right.

He hadn't been paying attention to when, but veteran Knights with unkempt greying hair and scraggily beards forcibly pushed their way through the crowd to stare at him in fixation. There was a passion in their eyes that was hard to describe, the closest word being fanaticism.

It perturbed Shirou, more so when they knelt down one knee.

"L-Lord Ashton, it really is you," they murmured such heart-felt words that Shirou was at a loss with how to respond and coughed into his hand to compose himself.

"Yes, uhm, thanks but can you stand up now? There's no need to show me such formality," he tried to reason with them, but it only made the situation worse as it solidified whatever views they had of him.

"You, all of you!" He watched one of the veteran Knights call out to the crowd in agitation. "Why aren't you all bowing!?"

As if struck by a sudden realization the crowd stilled at almost the same time.

Oh nonono. He could already picture what was about to happen and quickly intervened, lest he be the only man standing within the entirety of Bristol.

"Enough!" He nearly yelled in a panic. All he wanted was to go to town and ask the blacksmiths and craftsmen for several shipments of metal and some cooperation. Why did it always have to turn out this way for him? Was his luck really that bad?

He stepped forward, his legs carrying him to the front of the crowd where he 'helped' the veteran Knights back up onto their feet. Taken aback by his sheer strength, the Knights had no room to resist and could only stare him blankly.

"Like I said," he admonished. "I am the same as all of you and do not need you all to show me such formality. Furthermore, I do not want to trouble you all by taking your gifts which you have all worked hard to obtain."

The entire crowd was listening raptly at this point, the women covering their noisy children's mouths and the men standing cross-armed.

He took it as a good sign and decided to strike while the iron was hot.

Pulling back a short distance from the crowd, he gestured to the pile of offered gifts and began prompting people to take them back one by one. "I do not need all of these as I already have plenty of my own, but what I do need is something more important blacksmiths and craftsmen in the crowd."

The trade workers in the crowd all perked up at his words, making it simple for him to spot them out.

"I need you help," was all he needed to say before he was swarmed.

In the first place, Lord Ashton was known as the pinnacle forger in all of Britain.

The Blacksmith of the Iron Forge.

There was no way the craftsmen in the crowd would allow themselves to miss such an opportunity.

They began harking and quarrelling with each other for the chance to help, believing his transaction to be a small one. They were wrong.

"I need steel, lots of it," Shirou said insistently. "After that, I need you all to accompany me in making a new design. We'll call it a modular model."

After giving back all of the gifts given to him, the townspeople politely left, leaving behind only the craftsman who began discussing to themselves in detail about their latest assignment.

Just as Shirou was about to join the craftsman in the initial stages of smithing, a local Knight blocked his path and invited him to the Lord's estate. There was a symbol of a wolf on the Knight's pauldron, which made it evident who the Knight was affiliated to.

As much as Shirou may have wished to decline, the individual beside the Knight wasn't exactly someone he could ignore.

It was Palamid scrutinizing him from beneath his helm.

He couldn't be certain of it, but he was sure that Palamid was smiling in exasperation and expectation. Clearly, Palamid had been listening in to what he had asked the local craftsman to do.

Despite the curiousty welling in Palamid's mind, there were more important matters to deal.

"If you'd come with us for the time being, _Lord Ashton_ ," Palamid enunciated the title people were calling Shirou by in hopes of instigating some sort of reaction. Unfortunately, it wasn't what Palamid had hoped for as Shirou took it the wrong way.

Shirou frowned. He couldn't help but feel that he was being made fun of for some reason and simply stared at Palamid in silence.

Palamid shrugged, and didn't bother saying anything else before taking the lead and beckoning for Shirou to follow.

Staring at Palamid's back, Shirou steadily increased his pace. There was just something about Palamid, Bristol, and the townsfolk that constantly had his head throbbing the longer he looked at them.

It really wasn't comfortable and before he knew it, he had overtaken Palamid, his body seeming to be on auto-pilot as it walked towards the large estate near the center of town.

Noticing his subconscious actions, Palamid's expression brightened without his knowing.

The gazes of many townsfolk followed after the group, and only stopped when they entered Duke Wolfred's manor. The sound of celebrations would continue within the town for the rest of the day at the return of a local Hero.

Said local Hero was currently brought within a study busy staring in a daze at the familiarity of the room and the people within it.

The room was tidy and only possessed the bare essentials necessary for practicality. The floors were made of slabs of granite and the walls were made of sturdy brick. The furniture in the room itself seemed refurbished for comfort, but Shirou couldn't take the time to enjoy anything about the room.

Like he had experienced in the plaza, he was being stared at again.

The entire study was in complete silence from the moment Palamid had stepped in, dismissed the escorting Knight, and beckoned for Shirou to enter.

It was so silent, that Shirou could hear the breaths of two individuals within the room hitch every so often.

"…"

"…"

"…"

No one was speaking. Palamid himself was content to just watch the situation play out as he himself had been unable to maintain his composure in the army camp. So, what if it was a bit petty? He'd wait for the Son of Wolfred and Emily's minds to catch up to the current situation before explaining anything. Besides, seeing was believing.

The silence continued before the Son of Wolfred abruptly sat up and glared at Palamid. "W-Why didn't you tell me sooner you fucker?" The Duke's son cursed before shaking his head. It wasn't worth it when he could see that Palamid was only smiling back at his actions.

He turned towards Shirou.

In both the Son of Wolfred's and Emily's eyes, there was no doubt of the identity of the individual before them. Appearance, temperament, and the commotion he had caused outside were all enough pieces of evidence to come to a conclusion. Only Shirou could cause some sort of problem wherever he went, and it all but verified everything.

"It's really you isn't it? Where the hell have you been?!" The Son of Wolfred took in a breath before composing himself. "Do you have any idea just how much your 'death' affected the King? For the past few years, the King has recklessly gone into the battlefield without the slightest heed for his safety. And you know what? I heard from Lancelot, but it's all because the King is drowning away his sorrows through constant battle."

The Son of Wolfred reeled himself in as he cooled his head. "Forget it. None of that matters anymore now that you're back. With you, we can once again turn the tide on the current stalemate against the Saxons after coming to the King's aid. Afterwards, I'll be relying on you to talk some sense back into the King to take better care of himself."

Seemingly done with his rant, the Son of Wolfred put on a refreshed expression before sitting back down and leaning his back over his recliner. The words that he'd not been able to say for years on the King's behalf finally released in full.

Emily was far simpler than the Son of Wolfred, she simply stood up and walked directly in front of Shirou. Thereafter, she fiddled for something in her pockets and produced two items, a bag and a medallion with a prominent crest engraved in the metal.

"A few coppers in the past really do go a long way," Emily said fondly, opening the pouch and revealing the worn pieces of currency inside as she brushed back her hair. "It was the motivation and hope I got from these that allowed me to persevere through my training."

Nodding her head, Emily put back the bag of coppers she produced from her pockets before reaching out for Shirou's hand and placing the medallion within it. "On behalf of the sixth-generation heir of the Barthomeloi Family, I hereby pronounce you as an Honorary Guest and Friend of the family."

Emily was making a vow, her words carrying a magic that formed a type of contract different from Geas. The Medallion she had given was a form of proof for one recognized by the Barthomeloi which formed a magic circle that braded itself within the item.

"May your enemies tremble at the strength of the house, and may none dare tread lightly on your steps, for House Barthomeloi will remember all grievances," she finished with a solemn nod as he stepped away.

For his part, Shirou had been in a daze as Emily and the Son of Wolfred talked to him. Images of a young girl being extorted by an equally young noble entering his mind before he began to wince.

Emily's eyes narrowed when she noticed his clear discomfort.

Something was wrong.

The fact that Palamid expression was so solemn should have tipped her off earlier.

"Are you alright, Shirou?" She asked, moving towards him to check on his condition. From the tenderness of her actions, it wasn't hard for Palamid to see that somethings of the past never change.

The King wouldn't be happy.

Palamid had always known about an odd quirk the King possessed in childhood.

The King didn't like it when other girls drew near to Shirou. Even in the past when they had once travelled in a group, Palamid could still vividly recall the dark glower over the young King's face when Emily hung onto Shirou's arm.

Then again, Palamid would rather have the King angry rather than sad.

Putting away his internal musings, Palamid knew what was coming form the moment Shirou opened his mouth.

"I'm fine," Shirou was quick to force away the pain. He stared at the occupants in the room with apprehension before speaking again. "This may come as a shock to you all, but I really think you guys have the wrong person. Even if the townsfolk called me Lord Ashton, it might just be some mistake," Shirou tried to explain.

Both Emily and the Son of Wolfred's expressions stiffened, the happiness and mirth they obtained from the situation suddenly vanishing.

Palamid sighed in the corner, already expecting such a result. With his eyes, he mad contact with Emily's and moved his lips to word out a lingering suspicion.

_'Magic?'_

When Palamid had first found Shirou, he didn't have Merlin around to verify anything, but now with Emily present, this was as good of a chance as any.

Emily nodded her head to convey that she understood what Palamid was asking of her and placed a hand over Shirou's shoulder. With a single thought, she poured her magic into Shirou's body in the form of a deep scan to detect for abnormalities.

Furrowing his brows, Shirou stared up at Emily, but by the time he looked up at her, it was to see a dire expression on her face.

"T-This is," she pursed her lips and signalled back to Palamid.

The room fell into silence again.

Seconds passed followed by minutes.

It was at that point, that the Son of Wolfred couldn't take it anymore. Unlike Palamid who was exposed to magic due to his occasional encounters with Merlin, the Son of Wolfred was different. The only magic had ever seen was the type Shirou had done, and even then, he didn't have enough background to understand the meaning of Palamid and Emily's previous exchange.

"This is bullshit!" The Son of Wolfred smacked a fist down over his desk while glaring. Right before he could launch into a tirade of profanities, Emily signalled for him to stop.

Emily then gently stared down at Shirou. "You really don't remember us, the friends you grew up with?"

Pain once again assaulted Shirou, but all he could recall were vague images. In which case, they were still better than nothing. "I think," was the only response he could give.

Emily's eyes brightened somewhat at his response. "Then please keep thinking. Deep and hard."

Shirou nodded his head in agreement. "I understand. I'll keep it in mind, but is there anything else needed of me at the moment?"

The Son of Wolfred bristled, but Palamid and Emily stepped in, shaking their head. "No, you're free to go," they both said.

Moving from where he had been standing, Shirou stared long and hard at Emily and the others before finally leaving by closing the oaken doors behind him.

The Son of Wolfred exploded at Shirou's departure.

"What are you two trying to do!?" He seethed, fingers curling one by one into fists while he looked back and forth at his two friends. "You can't possibly not see that that's Shirou can't you? Lord Ashton, the one we _all_ know can change the current situation in the war for the better!"

Sighing, Palamid allowed the Son of Wolfred to vent before offering Emily a chair to sit on. Emily accepted with an unreadable expression as Palamid sat across from her.

"So?" Palamid inquired. "What did you discover?"

Emily raised a finger.

"Firstly, he is indeed our Shirou," she said with certainty. "I used a dispelling magic to negate any kind of magical disguise which resulted in no obvious changes. The feel of his od is also the same as the magic imbued to reinforce the swords the both of you carry."

With Emily's admission, it gave the Son of Wolfred all the more reason to justify his thoughts of dragging Shirou back and beating the sense into him. However, Emily wasn't done.

"Secondly, there's a magic seal blocking away his memories." Emily's admission caused both the Son of Wolfred and Palamid to reel back in shock. "I suspect that the magic seal is a result of the event the King refuses to divulge. He shuts up and puts on an anguished expression at any mention of it, kind of like a mental trauma."

"Then what do you suppose we do?" The Son of Wolfred asked.

Emily bowed her head low.

"I don't know. I've never seen a magic seal quite like it," she clicked her tongue while tapping a finger over her thigh. "The thing is, I detected two kinds of magic in the seal with two different functions. One of the magics supply the magic seal to store away Shirou's past memories, but the other magic within the seal is more volatile and dangerous. It was almost as if one was keeping the other at bay."

The point that didn't make sense was the need to create a magic that targeted the mind with counterintuitive functions. A magecraft that destroys the mind, but contradicts itself by storing away that which was important? What sane magus would create such a thing?

It was a practice that Emily had not been taught of. She needed a senior's knowledge.

_Merlin, she had to get him to Merlin!_

Emily bit the nail of her thumb in agitation, but Palamid and the Son of Wolfred were still waiting for a response.

"Can't you just remove it?" Palamid asked.

Emily shook her head. "It's too complex, and even if I were able to, the problem is the seal itself. If I remove the magic seal, the destructive aspect will flow directly into his mind and kill him."

"Then deal with the destructive aspect first."

Emily let out a sigh. "I would if I could, but the destructive aspect is 'within' the magic seal. Think of it as a box with an object inside. One can not reach for the object within the box without first unsealing the box. In this case, the object is like smoke and the moment you open the box, the smoke will drift out and suffocate everything."

Emily gestured with her hands before falling silent, her fingers clasping over the hem of her dress in distress. What reason did she have to be a magus if she do nothing for the one she cared about?

She was vexed, but unlike the Son of Wolfred and Palamid, she could hide it better.

"Then there's nothing that can be done." The Son of Wolfred slumped in his chair, reaching for a bottle of wine which he poured into a cup, his expression forlorn. "With the situation as it is, it'll probably be better if we didn't inform the King. I'm sure it would just pain him more to discover that the friend he so cherished can't even remember the time they spent together."

Palamid was wordless, but his silence expressed his agreement.

It was only Emily who continued thinking.

Her thoughts began to whirl as her emotions spurred her to further inspiration.

For the man who saved her when she needed it the most.

Compassionate.

Kind.

Loyal.

She wanted him back just as much as the King and everyone else.

Think.

That was all she could do before getting touch with Merlin.

"There's nothing _we_ can do, but it's different if its Shirou," Emily spoke, her mind working on overdrive. "The analogy I made was destroying the destructive magic from 'outside' the box, so what would it mean if it was destroyed 'inside' the box?"

Palamid's eyes widened. "Then that would mean that the we can safely lift he seal."

Emily nodded. "I speculate that what we need to do, is push Shirou to such an extent that he has no choice but to recall his memories. The more memories he repossesses, the more likely he'll recall how to use his magecraft and vanquish the destructive energy on his own."

The Son of Wolfred cleared his throat before staring at Emily and Palamid in the eyes. "Therefore, beat him up right? I told you my method was the way from the start. Guards! Guards where are you! You're Lord is calling!"

Before the Son of Wolfred could call out anymore, he was suddenly met with Emily's smiling face and a purple ball of magical energy forming on the tip of her finger aimed at his groin. "Try calling one more time. ~I'll castrate you?"

Palamid watched as the Son of Wolfred's face paled considerably and couldn't help but sympathize with the fool. Even if the Son of Wolfred grew more mature, since when did he ever think that it was prudent to threaten a woman's perceived man in front of them? More so when that woman was a Witch?

Still, the Son of Wolfred was Palamid's friend.

"Enough enough, he surely didn't mean it," Palamid intervened.

Emily stared at the Son of Woflred with a neutral expression before sitting back down.

"Other than such barbaric methods which surely won't work, our best option is to trigger Shirou's stronger memories. The kind that the mind itself refuses to let go of, but the problem is, finding that memory. What memory would be something he cared about the most?"

No one in the room had an answer, but Palamid _did_ have a suggestion.

The place where Shirou's magic shone once again.

The Battlefield.

Palamid stared at the Son of Wolfred and Emily before re-propositioning his plans to recruit new Knights into a new Elite Wolf Unit.

To relive the times of their youth, their young adolescence when everyone was together.

Palamid voiced the thoughts hidden in their hearts.

To save the King and return a friend's memories.

"Let's go on another adventure."

* * *

In the midst of Bristol's specialty district, Shirou finally ended up having some time to himself after instructing the other craftsman of how to forge the steel he had asked them to gather into certain parts.

With the sheer enthusiasm the craftsmen possessed, by the time his meeting with Palamid, Emily and the Son of Wolfred concluded, an entire mountain of steel had been procured.

All he had to do upon arrival at the specialty district was oversee the production and explain how everything was to be built and stored for the Knights to wheel out onto the warfront.

Having been working for several hours, most of the blacksmiths in the smithy he was currently occupying grew too exhausted to continue and dismissed themselves for the day. Meanwhile, as his endurance had yet to deplete, he stayed behind to finish his preparations for the King's rescue.

What he was envisioning was a defensive concept found from a time of great technological upheaval that could work even on the open plains given ample preparations.

Hammering away at the sheets of metal in front of him, the sheer density and weight of his hammer made it so it appeared like he was molding clay rather than steel.

Blasting the heat of the furnace over the metal, he placed aside his hammer and forcibly bent the heated steel into the shape he wanted. The glow of the metal hardly affected him with only parts of his skin tanning due to the temperature.

In the forge, near the flame, sparks, and cinders, he really did feel the most at ease.

Placing the steel piece down with the rest, he continued forging without a care until he heard the distinct sound of the front door opening.

Glancing behind him, it was then that he realized that he'd forgotten about someone in his haste to complete his task.

"Mordred," he called out softly in guilt.

She was standing at the front entrance looking at some of the finished modular products laying off to the side before turning to him with a pout. He said pout, but it was more of a glare if anything.

"So, this was where you were," she grumbled while pulling off her helmet and trying to cool herself off. With him forging just a few feet in front of her, the temperature was near sweltering.

"Had enough fun for the day?" She asked sarcastically.

To be fair, it had probably been several hours since the time she was expecting him, so she had the right to be ticked off. Then again, everything he was deciding to do today was on her behalf, so maybe she could show just a little gratitude?

He didn't think too much about it. Knowing Mordred, she just wasn't being honest with herself anyway.

"Sorry, it really wasn't supposed to take this long," his apology was met with rolled eyes.

"Oh really?" Mordred crossed her arms and continued her observation of the surroundings. She was particularly interested in some of the swords laying about, but he knew that she probably just didn't want him to notice that she had been bored after leaving her alone for too long.

His mood couldn't help but lift when he understood that he was the man that she'd come looking for by her own initiative.

"Yeah, its just that I _literally_ got caught up in something before this." Memories of being paraded around town caused him to laugh dryly.

Mordred raised a brow in inquiry.

He let out a sigh of defeat.

"D-Did you happen to notice a large crowd in town?" He asked slowly.

Mordred nodded her head as she drew closer. "They were too densely packed together for me to investigate though."

Shirou lips curved upwards in fatigue, the window of his eyes seeming to relive the day's experience. "Did you happen to see the person tossed up and down in the air in the midst of that crowd?" He asked.

Mordred didn't even consider it before speaking, her eyes narrowing in his direction. "You mean that fool who has the mind to make merry in a situation where the King's life is in danger? Of course, I noticed that bastard even if it was only from a distance. In fact, I was contemplating about teaching him a lesson with my fists if I ever run into him."

Mordred's words caused him to shudder as her felt a gaze on his back. She knew. She definitely knew.

He stared blankly at Mordred as he considered if he should run or just take a minor beating. Considering that he'd wasted too much time being paraded down the streets already, he resolved himself to trust in his constitution.

He put aside away his hammer, moved away from his anvil, and presented his face directly in front of Mordred, his eyes half-closed in preparation.

She stared back at him in confusion, her brows scrunching together as she couldn't understand the meaning of his actions. However, her mind quickly recalled what had happened the last time that she had been alone with Shirou in a smithy.

Her eyes naturally, zeroed in on the proximity of his face to hers as heat caused her cheeks to redden, more so in shame when she realized a certain expectation jumped around excitedly within her. She forced the feeling down with an indignant fury but her constantly blinking eyes still gave her away.

"Y-You bastard back off," she tried to push him away, but found that there was no strength in her arms. She was mortified.

Panic welling up from within her, she became dumbfounded at Shirou's next action.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" He asked, leaning his face forward further in reluctance.

The red on Mordred's face instantly erupted.

W-What the fuck did he mean? C-Could he possibly be suggesting that _she_ be the one to initiate?!

No. NO. Utterly impossible.

In her fluster, her feet were unconsciously stepping back, as her hands waved frantically in front of her.

Noticing the movement of Mordred's arms, Shirou prepared himself and steeled his expression.

The beating was sure to come.

Contrary to expectation however, he watched in a daze as Mordred simply stared at him, her eyes two teal-coloured swirls that couldn't meet his face directly. Did her mind overload?

Shirou couldn't have been anymore confused than he already was.

Given the fact that Mordred had seen him paraded by the crowd, she was certain to already know it was him, right? Why else would she have narrowed her eyes at him in accusation moments earlier?

Still, with no movement on Mordred's part and feeling like this lesson of hers wasn't worth wasting anymore time on, he opened his mouth.

"What are you doing Mordred, hurry up already?"

"Y-You, h-how can you say such words with a straight face!?" Her voice came out unnaturally high, her throat tightening in her agitation as she pointed with a finger. "W-What kind of Knight do you think I am!"

One who starts brawls for no reason?

One who's perfectly happy to disobey military protocol?

Someone who's quick to anger?

Instead of answering Mordred's question, Shirou simply sighed. "Weren't you going to teach me a lesson?"

Mordred blanched, her entire body freezing up as her hands paused in midair.

"Huh?" Was the unintelligent word that spilled out from her mouth.

Shirou scratched at the back of his head. "That person in the crowd, the one paraded around and constantly hoisted into the air, that was me." He pointed at himself with his thumb. "I thought you already knew and were implying for me to receive my punishment. Was I wrong?"

The quizzical expression on Shirou's face instantly caused all the expectation within Mordred to erupt into an embarrassed rage.

"Y-Yeah of course. That's exactly what I was planning!" Mordred stuttered as she balled her hands into fists. However, she didn't lash out in favour of turning around to cover her face. "I'll only give you a warning this time, but make sure it doesn't happen again. Why the hell would they even carry you around like that anyway?"

Shirou could easily see through Mordred's curiosity. She was glancing at him at the corner of her eyes while waiting for his response. He straightened his back and puffed out his chest in bravado.

"Well I'll have you know that this entire town thinks of me as some Noble named Lord Ashton."

The sound of clanking armour alerted him to the fact that Mordred had snapped her head back to face him. "Lord Ashton?" She asked.

"Yes."

" _The_ Lord Ashton?"

"Yes," he verified again.

Mordred stared long and hard at him before bursting into laughter. "You? Lord Ashton? their clearly just misunderstanding like the way the Saxons think your hammer is some holy relic."

Shirou nodded in agreement, relieved that someone finally agreed with him. Just from looking at Palamid, his Knights, and the people of Bristol made it evident that none would agree that he wasn't Lord Ashton.

At least Mordred understood.

"Yeah, to be honest I've been thinking about it. Bristol and Exeter are too far apart in the first place and therefore there's no way I can be Lord Ashton. I'm just a blacksmith and the Shield of Mordred."

Mordred balked at his words, turning her back to him faster than he could even call out her name.

"U-Ugh Yeah. It's your misfortune to be this Third-Rate Knight's Shield" Mordred tried hard to not look pleased with his words, but the smile she couldn't quite force away made it simple to read her true thoughts. At the very minimum, he didn't have to worry about her fists raining down on him anymore.

Speaking of which, it was time to move on to relevant matters.

"Mordred, what does your Coat of Arms look like?" He asked.

Mordred perked up at Shirou's question and produced a small crumpled piece of dried sheep skin. Over the sheep skin was what resembled a five-year-old's drawing. It resembled Mordred's helm with a fiery red background reminiscent of flames, yet it didn't look intimidating at all. Instead, it looked kind of cute with the helmet's sharp points slightly rounded over due to a wobbly hand that painted the design on.

Looking at Mordred's proud expression, it was evident who the artist was.

He closed his mouth, and simply chose not to comment as he wordlessly took the design and recorded it to memory.

A Coat of Arms was the symbol of a Knight.

No matter how 'unique' Mordred's was, it would do its job and show just whose merit the planned project involving the craftsmen of Bristol would belong to on the battlefield.

For Mordred, The Knight of One.

Or as Sir William Orwel would like to call her.

Mordred, Knight of Brash Affection.

* * *

**-Several days later.**

Memories were recollections of past events stored within the recesses of one's mind. Sometimes they were cruel, other times cherished, but regardless of anything, it was the ability to recall them and the emotions one had once felt that made them remarkable.

For even in the future Arturia would always remember the events of her youth, the lessons she had learned, and even her greatest regrets.

From Sir Ector she had learned to be a Knight, one of character, grace, and etiquette; the rules of chivalry, honour and its oaths, ingrained into her very being.

Justice for the weak.

And honour for one's character.

Through Sir Ector, she embodied the concept of what it was to be a Knight.

From Sir Kay she had learned to wield her sword; not for pettiness or personal disputes, but for the sake of her convictions and ideologies, forging a path made of her own actions.

A path of the righteous and the noble.

Such was the passion Sir Kay had imparted upon her through the will of his sword and the clashing of steel.

There was no doubt that Sir Ector and Sir Kay had played fundamental roles in her development as her guardian figures, but perhaps more than them was the impact that just a single individual had had on her.

The memories she had of him were perhaps the most fond and idyllic, stemming back towards the time of her own adolescence and never failing to stab at her like daggers. For they were memories of a past that she had been unable to protect.

If Sir Ector and Kay taught her what it meant to be a Knight, then from Shirou she learned what it had meant to be human.

To be more than just a King without emotion.

And that fact made it all the more painful.

She was seated within the center of a make-shift camp located in the midst of East Saxons near Wessex. Her army was camped around her and busy manning the hastily made fortifications within a circular area. Looking at their shabby appearance, there was no way they would hold. The only real deterrent they had was the fear of her sword.

She was in the middle of enemy territory fighting over a flat expanse of land adjacent to a large hill. The entire situation wouldn't have been so bad if she hadn't led the army in too deep but her emotions which she had been bottling up had finally gotten the best of her.

The army was besieged on all sides. The Saxons had set up camp near them as well and were simply biding their time until her army's supplies ran out. By then, the lack of food and energy would be fatal in battle. She had to break out of her situation before then.

Other than the messengers that had managed to flee before full encirclement, the entire army was like a sitting duck.

Her eyes drooped, the fire and passion that had resided within them in her youth greatly diminished until it was almost hollow.

She no longer aged, her appearance fixed in her mid-twenties due to the reservations she had of taking up Excalibur after the loss of Caliburn.

She looked down at the Holy Sword on her waist and forced down her grief. She didn't feel as if she had been worthy of it.

It should have been _him_.

Her hands balled into fists as a shudder travelled down her body.

She had already lost one of her most cherished people.

She didn't want to experience the feeling again, no; rather than experience, she didn't want to endure any more than what she already was.

She'd gone against both Merlin and Sir Ector's advice and led her army out to what she knew to be a trap, yet she had no choice. Kay was being held in the main castle of Salisbury which was deep within enemy territory. She refused to accept it when she had heard talk that Kay was bound to already be dead.

If she couldn't save Kay either, then she didn't know if she could take it anymore.

Bags were forming under her eyes due to the mental strain but it was only because of the strength of her constitution that they weren't noticeable.

Suddenly, the flaps of her tent opened to reveal a man she trusted as an honest advisor.

"Bedivere," she called.

It was the Knight she had met in her youth in the town of Roan. Having grown older since then, Bedivere's silver coloured hair had only grown longer, reaching passed his shoulders. The new set of plate-armour he wore also paired nicely with the short mantle hung over his shoulders.

His current expression was one of concern.

"You should at least eat, you know," he spoke as politely as he could, gesturing towards the uneaten rations Arturia had left to the side.

She didn't even look in the food's direction.

Bedivere sighed, but he wouldn't force his King.

"Report," Arturia said.

Nodding his head, Bedivere dropped to a knee.

"The enemy is still waiting for the army to starve itself, so nothing new on that part," Bedivere explained the current situation part by part. "In regards to our rations, we're starting to run low as it is. It'll only be a matter of time from now."

"Hmm, I see," Arturia's expression became unreadable. "You are dismissed, Bedivere."

"By your orders."

Saluting, Bedivere took one last look at Arturia before shaking his head in concern. There was nothing left for him to say, and all that was required of him and the other Knights was to adhere to the King's will.

Alone once again, Arturia leaned her face on her palm and trembled.

It was hard.

The entire situation appeared out of control.

What would 'he' have done and said?

Left alone, all she had were her thoughts to get herself by, and more often than not, it hurt. A gut-wrenching pain without cure.

_I want to see you._

_I want to be with you._

_I want to hold you and never let go again._

Why hadn't she been able to say the words that mattered to her the most?

_I love you._

_Ever since we were small._

_Us two together._

_A Kingdom for two._

She was a fool for not realizing it before. A sob burst out from her mouth, no louder than a whisper as tears gently trickled down her cheeks. The sound of droplets echoing as they hit the floor resounded even as she silently wept, her lips trembling.

Caliburn didn't just acknowledge her or just Shirou, Caliburn acknowledged _both_ of them. Neither of them had to have had ruled individually. W-What if the future had actually intended for the emergence of a King and a Queen, not just a King alone?

The more she thought on the topic, the more regrets she had that slowly piled up over her shoulders.

Drinking no longer helped.

Eating no longer helped.

Fighting no longer helped either.

Merlin, Sir Ector, and her Knights were constantly on her side, but even then, it was still unbearable. Vengeance and Duty were the only two emotions driving her on, but even then, she no longer felt like herself. That part of her died and was buried the moment she failed to protect what mattered to her most.

An hour passed by, followed by another.

She wiped away her tears and steeled her expression.

Based on what Bedivere had said regarding the rations, she had no choice but to try and lead a breakout at the eve of tomorrow morning.

She glanced at the food left at her side.

_Hunger was the enemy._

She swallowed, not out of hunger but due to the lump that was forming in her throat. It was the reason she no longer ate as much as she used to. Food reminded her of what she'd lost.

Moisture once again forming in her eyes, she convinced herself that it was a trick of the dust floating within the tent.

Reaching a hand out, she took her food, and finally took a bite.

She shuddered as she chewed, unable to tell if it was her lack of appetite, or because of her mood, but the food praised as the best the army had on hand, could no longer satisfy her.

Nonetheless, she forced it down her throat along with her reservations and doubts.

_It was a bitter taste._

* * *

The dawn of the next morning was the dawn of battle.

Crows flew through the air, circling amongst the clouds while peering down over the land that would soon be filled with corpses.

Staring up at the crows, Arturia's grip tightened around her sword.

_Was she watching?_

Anger welled up from within her like a roaring flame, mixing with her panic, anxiety, and desperation, but she didn't let it show on her face.

Her camp had long since positioned themselves in an arrow-head formation. The remaining cavalry of three-thousand strong placed at the front while the infantry of six-thousand was ready to follow after the horses.

They would only get one chance, and failure wasn't an option.

Lancelot, Tristan, and Bedivere rode by her side, the only Knights of the Round she had on hand.

Her friends.

She would not let them fall.

Excalibur shone with a light reminiscent of the stars.

The glowing beacon in her hand that would guide the way forward.

"Charge!" She bellowed.

The make-shift walls obscuring the cavalry and her army from view collapsed as Arturia led the entire army forward.

In front of her eyes were waves upon waves of Saxons that seemed endless in the flat expanse. Their shields were raised, their spears pointed at the ready.

Immediately her countenance darkened.

There were far more than what she or anyone had expected.

Too many spears stopping the horses of the cavalry.

"Lancelot, Tristan!"

A simple command was given.

"Understood."

The two Knights led their own respective units and split the cavalry in two.

There was no longer any room for escape.

All that was left was war, and a hope that they would prevail.

Lancelot charged to the left, Tristan to the right as she took the middle position to form a three-pronged fork. Her goal was the enemy commanders before her. If she could take them down, then there was a chance that she and her army could escape in the chaos.

"Let's go Llamrei," she whispered softly to her horse.

Llamrei neighed as it kicked off of the ground at break-neck speeds.

_O Sword of Promised Victory, show me of the end._

She charged without regard for safety. That part of her stopped caring long ago when her only true happiness was torn away from her life.

The world was grey.

Varying shades that no longer produced the same vividness it once had in her naivety.

Perhaps this battle would be the end?

She didn't know, but the concept of death itself wasn't as frightening as she thought it would be.

Because maybe, just maybe, he'd be there to welcome her.

He who wasn't just a retainer but someone worth more to her than anything else.

_Her Knight._

The one she had always dreamed of as a little girl in her youth.

Would he be waiting?

She didn't know, but it didn't matter.

His words. His teachings. His ideals. Through her, she would carry them on.

As a King of the people.

Caught up in her musings, she didn't notice it when a change occurred on the far south of the battlefield far beyond visible sight. A place too far away to possibly get involved in the main battle.

The Saxons positioned there were visibly shaken, their eyes darting back and forth at each other in uncertainty while their legs felt exceedingly weak.

For the better most part of the last hour, they had noticed something odd with the ground.

A minute trembling that only seemed to grow stronger and stronger with the passing of time. The vibrations themselves travelled up their legs and shook their bodies to the core. Their knees constantly buckled and before long, some had given up standing and had dropped onto a seated position.

Ten minutes passed.

Fifteen.

By now the vibrations had turned into minor earthquakes, no Saxon able to maintain their balance due to the weight of their armours. At that moment, all suddenly stared to the heavens.

A Godly roar accompanied by an eerie whistling noise.

Something reminiscent to a shot arrow.

An object piercing through the sky, shattering the sound barrier.

Otherworldly might.

A weapon beyond common means, forged for a specific purpose.

A tool of war.

The clouds parted at the falling of steel.

Cratering the ground, the vibrations this time produced a miniature plume of dirt and gravel that acted as shrapnel. The nearest Saxons died before even understanding what had happened, and by then, _all_ were staring.

Short in handle, yet large in mallet.

A weapon that fell from the heavens signalling the coming of an ill omen.

The vanguard of an army that had been on the march for days.

Buried within the crater it produced, was something no Saxon could tear their eyes away from.

It was a hammer.


	50. Chapter 50

Long and far was the road to Valhalla.

A path filled with treachery, glory, and honour, it was the pinnacle of any Saxon's achievement.

It was their faith, their belief in their Gods.

So when the earth shook and the skies seemed to echo with the tempest of a coming storm as the sound barrier shattered, all Saxons present understood what was before them.

There lying in a deep crater that scattered a plum of dust and grime into the air, was a fabled hammer.

"H-Hey, isn't that the hammer from the letters?" The Saxons began whispering to each other. "The one that the commanders said was all a big farce to divert their attention?"

The discussion erupted into violent whispers, the vast majority of the Saxons too shaken to even go and help their comrades who were injured from the impact. Many came off with heavy injuries and bruises that blackened their skin and caved in their armours and oval shields.

Groans echoed into the air, many yelling out in anguish from the pain, yet even then they were lucky. The ones directly beneath the hammer's trajectory were instantly killed, parts of their bodies reduced to a gory paste.

Moreover, as if there was some form of divinity protecting the hammer's image, not a single spec of blood or dirt blemished the hammer's polished metal.

The entire area around the Saxons grew silent. The only noise came from the interior where the brunt of the Saxon armies was facing off against the King of Britain. The sheer number of Saxons deployed denoted the importance the Saxon leaders had in killing the young King. More so because the King was too dangerous to be left alone, not after the previous skirmishes turned into slaughters.

It was a Holy Light, one born form the accursed sword in the King's hands.

Promised Victory?

The notion itself infuriated the Saxons, but the might of the sword was undoubtable. It alone could kill thousands with a mere swing, with its only weakness found in its wielder.

Till the present day, no Saxon knew just how many times the King of Britain could unleash an army killing attack, but it was proven that she could do it at least twice or thrice in succession.

The number of comrades the Saxons had to sacrifice just to test the King's limits alone made every Saxon hate the King of Britain to their bones. Never had the Saxons had the Saxons faced such an enemy that could utterly leave them at a loss.

However, in the end, the sacrifice of the Saxons was worth it.

In baiting the King to attack Saxon territory by revealing the capture of Sir Kay, the King had lost the wisdom that generally accompanied him on the battlefield. Forgoing the warnings of his advisors, the King recklessly charged forth and unleashed the power of his sword.

The number of times the King of Britain had already used his Sacred Sword in the past few days had already reached passed three. Taking the gamble, all Saxon commanders mobilized their troops and marched with the intention to kill.

None believed that the King could continuously fire off such devastating power with his sword. The fact that the sword's light had not reappeared despite the King's current predicament was telling. The King of Britain was nearing his limit, and to make the situation worse, the Saxons were still being cautious and it showed.

The Saxon armies weren't assigned into large groups, but separated into many smaller units spread across the vicinity. After the massacre at the battle of Glasbury, the Saxons already knew better than to provide a target for the King of Britain to swing that accursed sword.

The situation as it was, the sudden introduction of a new variable changed everything.

Stuck staring at the hammer before them, the Saxons swallowed audibly.

Should any one of them be able to take the hammer for themselves, then it wouldn't be long before they could usurp the position of war-chief from the other Saxon leaders. More than just their ambitions, what that hammer represented was honour.

He who can wield the mighty Mjolnir would be guaranteed a road to Valhalla.

It wasn't just the King of Britain who could wield such divine weapons.

If the Mjolnir, the strongest weapon of legend in Saxon belief were to be taken into Saxon possession, then the wielder in the eyes of the Nordic people would be no different from a God.

He who wields the mighty Mjolnir carried the legacy of the God of Thunder in Midgard.

The Son of the All Father.

Thor.

Hearts thumping within their chests, the Saxons lunged for the hammer in front of them, their eyes bloodshot as they glared at their comrades who were all competing for the same prize.

"Broga, you bastard, don't you dare! As if a brute like you can possibly be worthy!"

"Fuck you all, I was born strong, and to the strong go the spoils!"

"As if!"

Greed and ambition were clouding the Saxon's eyes. In a time where they should have been united to defeat the King of Britain, a petty squabble between themselves quickly escalated to full-blown confrontation.

Men were pushing and shoving, while many began to lock blades and strike ruthlessly. Worse of all, no matter how many times the hammer was approached, none were able to lift it, yet none wanted the competition to vie for it either.

It was selfishness. Even if they couldn't wield the hammer themselves, they believed that one day they could make themselves worthy enough to wield it. Until then, they'd rather have it in their possession then lose the opportunity to another.

The conflict intensified until temporarily coming to a pause.

"Wait stop you all, can't you see that none of us can even lift it? What if this is just a fake?" One of the Saxons who had been inured from the hammer's impact spoke up from the ground. His nose was bleeding and there was a large laceration from a piece of debris on his left arm. "Have you all even stopped to think about how sudden this is?"

It was true. In the midst of the battle to kill the King of Britain once and for all, the Mjolnir suddenly appeared.

A weapon of legend came out from nowhere?

It really was something that was too difficult to believe, and yet, none of the Saxon's could hide the desire in their eyes. After all, what if it was real?

Clearly it came from the sky where the Gods reside in their higher realms. Therefore, the Mjolnir could have been sent to the Saxons by the will of the All-Father in response to the Sacred Sword in the King of Britain's hands.

Although many Saxons were having such thoughts, most of them became more rational after the interruption and began discussing amongst themselves. There was no point in quarreling with their comrades when none of them could currently lift the Mjolnir up.

They all fell into a fervent discussion.

It was in the midst of the discussion that something beyond any Saxon's expectations occurred.

"Who the fuck is that bastard?"

Everyone stilled, the tension in the air turning cold.

Without anyone's notice, a red-haired youth had walked up to the hammer and gingerly picked it up before turning and bolting away.

The expressions of all the Saxons stiffened. Not once had anyone been able to lift the hammer no matter how hard they had tried, and now some random individual lifted it up without even trying?

None of the Saxons could accept such a result. More so when they realized that the stranger wasn't even part of their army.

Some random stranger had just taken what was the equivalent to a Holy Relic in the Saxons eyes and was blindly running away with it. To further add insult to injury, the physical feats the stranger was pulling off should've been impossible for someone of such a sleek yet sturdy build.

The stranger had literally picked up the Mjolnir and then jumped over the entire encirclement of Saxons before sprinting off into the distant hills.

If anything, the display of the stranger's physical capability had only stoked the desire in the hearts of the Saxons. After all, what did it mean for the stranger to suddenly possess such physical prowess?

_It was real._

_The hammer was the genuine Mjolnir._

_He who wields the hammer would have the strength of a God of War._

Faces reddening in outrage, all of the Saxons of the small unit at the edge of the battlefield broke ranks and gave chase atop their horses.

"GIVE IT BACK!"

Their screams echoed, drawing the attention of other Saxon units nearby who stared at each other in confusion.

* * *

This feeling of misfortune that stems from deep within, why did it feel so familiar?

The grass beneath his feet.

The beating of his heart within his chest.

He couldn't understand it, or perhaps he already did at some deeper level.

Striding forward with quick steps, Shirou let out a sigh he didn't know that he had been holding before glancing back behind him.

_Yup, still there._

It was as if they were chasing a mortal enemy. No matter what he did, or where he went, he got the feeling that the Saxons chasing him would stop at nothing to kill him.

Staring wearily at the hammer held in his hand, he began to wonder where it all started to go wrong. It was just a normal hammer to begin with. Yes, it was exceedingly heavy and it was almost impossible for normal people to wield it, but did the Saxons have to exaggerate everything so much?

At this point, he was certain that if he ever told a Saxon that he was using it as a simple forging hammer, he'd probably make an enemy for life.

The Saxons were right on his tail as he adjusted his speed to match theirs. Not only were their eyes bloodshot, but the veins popping over their foreheads revealed the intensity of their fury.

What was he thinking when he agreed to do something so dubious?

Intimidation they had said while patting his shoulder with their hands.

Mordred didn't like the way Palamid had been staring at him, but she held her mouth when she realized the situation the King was in when she got near enough to assess the number of enemies.

If the Saxons considered his hammer to be so Godly then why not use their mentality against them?

Over the course of the journey, he had displayed capabilities beyond that of an average individual. Of course, in the opinion of Mordred and the other Knights around her, he and his hammer were entirely to blame.

The fact that the hammer was unable to be transported normally due to its weight meant that Shirou could not ride a horse or load his hammer onto the carriages prepared by the people in Bristol.

Mordred was of the opinion that he just tosses his hammer forward like he had been doing on the way to Bristol, but the Son of Wolfred was quick to shoot the notion down with a glare.

To begin with, the army Palamid and the Son of Wolfred had gathered together using Shirou's influence as Lord Ashton was substantial. Not only did travelling Knights and mercenaries join the group, but many craftsmen came along as well for their own purposes.

Even from a distance they were large, making the likeliness of them getting spotted to be highly probable. Should Shirou toss his hammer like Mordred had suggested, then they would lose any element of surprise that the army could muster.

That being said, the problem of transport had still been an issue at that point until everyone realized a single truth.

Shirou was a monster.

A beast in human skin.

The fact that he could jog on pace with a horse while carrying his hammer had been enough reason for Palamid and the Son of Wolfred to force the current task on him despite earning Mordred's animosity.

Yes, he had one job currently, and that was to run.

Increasing his speed, he could not understand just why the intensity in the Saxons eyes increased exponentially.

They were provoked thoroughly.

Just seeing him exhibit such agility caused them to further regret letting the Mjolnir fall into a stranger's hands. They would kill him slowly for stealing what was theirs by right, they swore it.

Shirou, unable to understand the thoughts of his pursuers further increased his pace.

Sprinting for the hills, he passed the foot of two elevated hills before suddenly stopping in place.

To the Saxons, it was the moment that they had been waiting for.

"Die!" They yelled, charging forward.

Urged on by their frustration and anger, by the time the Saxons realized that something was wrong, it was already too late.

Arrows pelted over the Saxons in an unending rain, the surprise of the attack sending the Saxons into a fluster. Caught unprepared, the unit of Saxons suffered heavy casualties as the arrows found their way through the chinks of their armours. Worse, there was something about the sharpness of the arrowheads that made them far more lethal as they pierced straight through metal.

On one of the distant hills, Palamid nodded his head in Emily's direction. "Good work," Palamid said.

Emily simply nodded. To begin with, all she had done was reinforce the arrowheads to increase their lethality. It was the same for the new swords and equipment. She brushed back her hair with a hand in a controlled manner, a habit she had picked up in her time in house Barthomeloi. "It's not something worth praising me over when Shirou had been able to do this since we were kids."

A wistful expression came over her face before it shifted to one of neutrality at the recollection that Shirou couldn't even remember. Moreover, she too was like Mordred who was incensed to the point that Palamid and the Son of Wolfred had to detain her to her unit.

Emily's hands balled into fists in reflection of her mood.

She was displeased with Palamid and the Son of Wolfred's plan to use Shirou as bait while the army hid away in ambush. In Shirou's current state, he didn't even have access to the magic she had seen him use in their childhood. What if something went wrong?

Feeling Emily's displeasure, Palamid cleared his throat and pretended that he didn't notice. He'd have to warn the Son of Woflred later not to be too aggravating.

To be honest, neither Palamid nor the Son of Wolfred liked the plan much either, but they were left with no other choice.

The King had done a splendid job at becoming the Saxons public enemy.

Years of throwing himself into constant battle had only caused the animosity between both parties to swell.

In this case, there was simply too many of them.

Their numbers stretched out as far as the eyes could see, and although the equipment Emily had enchanted would allow Palamid and the army to cut a path straight through, not everyone was a monster like Shirou.

A point of exhaustion would be reached, and by that point, it wouldn't matter how effective their swords and armours were if they were no longer able to lift them.

"Spearmen, charge forward and finish them off!" The Son of Wolfred appeared over top one of the hills and suddenly ordered in a commanding voice. "Emily, notify me if any escape the area."

Emily smiled pointedly, her head tilting to the side as Palamid gestured to the Son of Wolfred in warning. The Son of Wolfred had already crossed a certain line for Emily when he suggested using Shirou as bait. At the very least, the Son of Wolfred should learn more tact. Although the Son of Woflred had matured, there was one thing about him that was still the same, his lack of propriety to read the situation before speaking.

The Son of Wolfred had always been one to speak his mind, yet in this case, it was like he was presenting his own head to the chopping board.

Noticing something off about Emily's lack of response, the Son of Wolfred glanced at her before sucking in a breath and backing off a few steps. "Please?" He asked in a small voice.

Emily sighed, before tactfully consenting her agreement.

Placing her foot to the ground, she began to draw an intricate set of magic patterns with her foot before gently tapping at the center of a formed sigil to activate it. "If any escape, I'll let you know," she said curtly. She wasn't petty enough to argue given the circumstances so she let the Son of Wolfred off for the time being.

The Saxons Shirou had lured in were quickly annihilated. With the constant attacks on all sides and the fact that they had chased Shirou too far away from the battlefield, they had no hope of reinforcements. Moreover, even the lucky few that escaped were stabbed through by a pulse of magical energy originating from the ground.

The whole ambush took little more than ten minutes, both for the battle and the clean up.

Sitting on a nearby rock, Shirou knew from the expression on Palamid's face that he would probably be sent out again.

His shoulders slumped, but he understood the importance of the role he was currently playing and bore with it.

Besides, unlike him, he wasn't the one that was the most restless with the situation.

"Damn bastards, why don't they just send themselves," Mordred grumbled from right next to him while scratching at her hair and glaring. Effectively, she had been placed on mandatory house arrest by Palamid and the Son of Wolfred lest she ruin everything and charge out after Shirou.

Now that Shirou was back however, she could take it no longer and forced her way to him. The Knights that tried to block her were met with both her fists and her ire which admittedly wasn't much of a deterrent, but something changed regarding the situation. The Knights loyal to Mordred butted in and made the other Knights helpless when a brawl ensued.

On a side note, Mordred had snuck her way out in the commotion.

Sitting next to him, Mordred was clearly in a fluster as her breathing was slightly erratic within her helm, but he didn't comment on it. He was just content that someone would worry on his behalf to such an extent.

"It's alright. I'm a tough kind of guy," he said.

_No. No it's not alright._

Mordred stared at him before pursing her lips.

What Shirou couldn't understand was just how Mordred viewed him. He was her first friend, someone of great importance to her that fully supported her goals and motivations.

The thought of Shirou dying on her left her breathless, but at the same time, she couldn't be too angry with Palamid and the Son of Wolfred either. The two were doing their best to aid the King unlike her who was only causing problems.

The thought mellowed her features, her back slumping forward as she grew silent.

The two were resting a small-ways off from where Mordred's unit was positioned so they were fairly isolated from where Palamid was organizing the rest of the army.

Bringing her knees closer to her chest, Mordred wrapped her arms around her thighs and sighed, her expression unreadable.

Looking at her, Shirou was certain about what was running across her mind. He patted her on the back. "Don't think about it. I'm sure that the merit of rescuing the King will get you into the King's graces."

The tips of Mordred's ears reddened at the fact that she had been so easily read, but she refused to admit anything and just kept silent. "Y-You think so?" Her voice got the better of her.

Shirou grinned before standing up and moving towards the supply wagons which he steadily began to rummage through.

It was here somewhere.

One of the aspects of his sure-fire method to bring more of the King's attention to Mordred.

Fiddling with his hands, his eyes quickly brightened when he found what he was looking for.

Pulling out a crate about as large and as wide as his chest, he placed it in front of Mordred who stared at him in confusion.

"What the hell's in there?" She asked him, her arms crossing in front of her chest.

By now, Palamid and the Son of Wolfred were calling out to him to draw more Saxons into the ambush point, but he hid away from Palamid's Knights and temporarily ignored the summons.

His actions caused Mordred's interest to peak and she found herself leaning her head in forward to peer at the crate.

Not wasting anymore time, Shirou flipped the crate open to reveal what was inside, causing Mordred to be speechless.

"S-Shirou you-"

He raised a hand to interrupt her. "It's fine," he spoke, already knowing what she was going to say. "Although you've been holed up here at the ambush point, something tells me it's almost time for the full army mobilization order to arrive. At that point, your Knights will need these."

Not wasting another moment, Shirou stood and went on his way before Mordred could protest. Besides, Palamid and the Son of Wolfred had personally come to receive him so there was no way he could ignore the summons any longer.

"Hey, wait! You can't just…" Mordred's words died in her mouth. There was no point calling out anymore as Shirou was already gone.

Staring at the contents of the crate, she didn't know what to feel as she pulled out one of many folded fabrics. Etched into each individual fabric was a design she could recognize instantly for she was its proud creator.

It was her Coat of Arms which she had spent days trying to make as ferocious and intimidating as possible, and for the most, she thought she succeeded. After all, none could take their eyes away from it when it was seen, and Agravain had even called it 'off putting.' Anything that could unnerve that cold and straight-faced man must have been on another level of terrifying.

In the current moment however, she was at a loss.

Shirou wasn't a Knight and had no recollection of being one. The importance of a Coat of Arms was therefore lost on him. In which case, it was only natural that he prepared an extensive number of replicas pertaining Mordred's Coat of Arms to bring attention to her. Before leaving Bristol, he had asked this favour from the local seamstresses.

It was evident that he was intending on getting the other Knights that followed under her to wear her Coat of Arms in battle.

Yet that was the problem.

A Coat of Arm's was a Knight's identity. The banner they wore that represented their house and status in society. To take up another's Coat of Arms was to take away a Knight's identity in battle.

It was knowing this reason that she tried to hide the contents of the crate when she noticed William and the other Knights approaching her. In her fluster, rather than close it, she ended up spilling the crate's contents over the ground.

Her eyes dilated.

She stared silently at them in panic and they stared back without blinking.

It was over.

Even without explanation, the replicas of her Coat of Arms could only lead to a single assumption. That she had wanted William and the others to discard their own Coat of Arms in favour of hers.

She tried to come up with an excuse for the situation, but she found that her throat was suddenly too dry for her to speak.

She swallowed nervously, but something entirely different from her expectations occurred.

Wordlessly, William Orwel and the other Knights who had sworn loyalty to Mordred donned the garments in the crate with pride. Black-eyed and yet standing strong.

So, what if it wasn't their personal Coat of Arms, they'd wear it regardless.

"Y-You bastards, do your honours mean nothing to you?!" Mordred was at a loss for words and spoke the first line that came to her mind. Unknown to her, she had subconsciously heightened the tone of her voice.

She stood up and clenched her teeth.

_Why?_

_Why are they going so far for a third-rate Knight like herself?_

A lump was forming in her throat, her voice becoming shaky.

_First it was Shirou, now it was them._

_Why were they being so kind to her when all she had ever known in life was being shunned?_

"What the hell are you even fighting for as Knights if you forsake your own identities!?" She couldn't understand it. No matter how hard she thought, she couldn't think of anything about her that was positive enough to sway others.

She wasn't a thinker, nor was she overly skilled like Lancelot

She was also quick to anger, and swift to lash out when in a fluster.

Just what part about her could be considered positive?

Her head naturally lowered as she prepared herself for the inevitable.

The Knights before her would leave her like the Knights before them.

Reality played out differently, no matter how long she waited, the shadows of the Knights around her didn't so much as budge. They remained perfectly in place.

The message was clear.

They would not leave.

Her lips quivered beneath her helm, the thumping of her heart echoing loudly in her ears. Gradually she raised her gaze upwards.

There directly in front of her was a group of individual Knights standing with their chests puffed forward and hands at their backs, waiting for her orders. Each of them wore the towel-long fabric embroidered with her Coat of Arms over their shoulders, giving them the appearance of flowing mantles.

"It is true that we would be forsaking our individual honour, but as a whole, we represent something different, Captain," William Orwel spoke slowly while taking a knee. The Knights behind him, black-eyed yet stern, were quick to follow. "The Knights of Mordred, at your service."

Mordred was frozen in place, unable to describe any of what she was feeling.

She staggered back one step, and then two.

She just barely managed to keep her legs from giving out beneath her as heat rushed up to her cheeks.

She was being overwhelmed by the sincerity of William and the other Knights, and just to cope with it, she turned her back to them and muttered in a low voice. "Do what you want, I-I'm not happy about this in the least."

Her words were one thing, but beneath her helm was another story.

It was the expression of a woman whose face was so red that she could no longer bear to be seen or heard.

* * *

The Saxons were acting strangely.

A man with flowing red hair that grew down passed his shoulders furrowed his brows as he urged his horse into a gallop. The man wore an intricate armour made out of a combination of steel plate and leathers that denoted his class as a nobility. Over his shoulders was a white flowing mantle.

His name was Tristan, one of the three Knights of the Round that had been on hand to accompany the King's reckless charge into enemy lines. Unlike Bedivere and Lancelot who were part of the right flank, Tristan alone managed the left.

"Sir Tristan, is it just me or do there seem to be less Saxons than there were in the beginning?" A Knight next to Tristan spoke up.

 _So, it really wasn't just him who noticed,_ Tristan thought to himself.

The number of Saxons currently around him were still fairly large, yet compared to what he had seen in the beginning, the current number was definitely smaller.

Noting the change in his mind, he didn't allow himself to be distracted.

He was leading a group of roughly three thousand cavalries while protecting the one thousand infantries behind them. Admittedly, his side had it easier as the Saxons focused more on Lancelot's right flank and the King who was boldly fighting at the front, but there was still a substantial number.

He readied his 'bow,' and yet from the perspective of a Master Archer, what he had in his hand was the furthest thing from a bow.

It was more of an instrument, possessing numerous strings notched to a bent wooden frame.

Failnaught, the bow whose arrows kill with the slightest motion of a finger.

Staring at the surrounding Saxons, Tristan let out a sigh atop his horse.

_O misery, a ballad of sorrows offered to the grave._

His fingers plucked over the strings, producing a deep melody that flittered tenderly into one's ears.

Two steps forward, three.

_And as the rabbit enters the hunter's gaze, the twilight is reached._

_Now, let me play it for you._

A symphony of death.

A Requiem of a dream's end.

Failnaught, the bow whose strings released invisible sonic vacuum arrows into the air activated.

Net like distortions formed before arcs of blood came spewing forth from the nearest Saxons.

"M-Monster," the Saxons backed away in fear of the unknown, Failnaught's arrows unseen and unheard. "Shoot the arrows, shoot him now!"

Tristan kept his eyes half-lidded and stared disinterestedly. He plucked Failnaught's strings once more.

There would be no arrows.

The Archers aiming at Tristan fell to the ground one by one before the other Saxons chose to retreat and maintain a tight encirclement.

Although Tristan didn't show it, he was in fact, frowning.

Although Failnaught appeared to be a peerless magical weapon, it wasn't simple to use too frequently. It was taxing on his mind and his concentration to pinpoint the exact area's the sonic vacuum arrows would strike.

His head was already throbbing as he could no longer count the number of times, he had been forced to repel the Saxons and attack.

The situation was only worse for Lancelot and the King whose stamina would eventually be worn down as well.

Tristan knew that he had to break out. At least then he could lead his flank to pincer Lancelot's enemies before coming to the King's aid at the center.

The King himself had chosen to directly attack the leaders of the Saxons on an elevated piece of land. The King's path was brimmed full of corpses.

Forehead creased, Tristan gave his orders.

"Charge forward," he yelled, intent on breaking the Saxons encirclement, yet it was in that moment, that Tristan pulled on the reins of his horse and stilled.

W-Was that a hammer?

For an instant, Tristan could not believe what his eyes were telling him as he stared across at the sky. The resounding impact however, took away all of his doubt, but even then, he was left with more questions than answers.

Even more unbelievable was the fact that no sooner than when the hammer had impacted the ground, wave after wave of Saxons seemed to be in pursuit of a single 'horse?'

It was hard for him to make out due to the distance, but there was no way a normal human could run that fast.

Straining his eyes, he watched in shock as the Saxons were led passed two hills and never returned.

Following that, something unbelievable occurred.

Another army?

The thought entered his mind, and no matter how hard he blinked, the army that appeared from behind the hills didn't fade.

Far from being happy, a solemnity overtook his mind.

The King, although popular amongst the commoners and a select circle of aristocrats, was not popular with many of the nobility. The King's refusal to marry Guinevere, the daughter of Cywryd of Gwent, caused political tensions to spike. Many nobles even wished to see the King's death in favour of propping up a new King of their choosing.

Many of the Knight of the Round were resentful of this fact, and Tristan, a man who lived his life by his emotions was included in the bunch.

_Human filth._

Tristan had no end to the insults he could give to such petty individuals and wished nothing more than to put them in their place. Yet it was a feat only one Noble House had the influence to achieve without repercussion.

The fact was, House Ashton was the tipping factor.

It was the breaking point that led to hostilities between the King and a faction of Aristocrats.

During a Noble's banquet, the matter of the King not being worthy of the death of the last descendant of the Ashton line was brought up. The result didn't end well. It was the first time, Tristan had ever seen the King voluntarily beat a person half to death with his fists alone.

It was a pivotal moment that proved to Tristan, that the King really did have emotions, only that they were buried within.

Cold faced, the King had left the banquet that day with an expression that others could not bare to look at.

The number of enemies the King had amongst the nobility wasn't small due to numerous failed political campaigns. Therefore, Tristan couldn't be sure that the emergence of a new army wasn't just another foe his King would have to deal with.

In his contemplation, the Saxons around him had attacked again, but they backed off in caution when he raised Failnaught's bow.

His attacks were practically unblockable. Every pluck of his finger taking away a life.

Tristan alone was the main deterrent that kept the knights under him alive, yet he was getting tired.

Gaze searching for any indication of the unknown army's affiliation, he first turned to inspect the Saxons to see if they recognized them, but from their stunned expressions, it was evident that they didn't.

Mind working on overdrive, he soon noticed something.

A rare smile crept its way up his lips despite the direness of the situation. After all, as an Archer he'd seen a peculiarity with his keen vision that instantly determined whether the new force was friend or foe.

It was a unique Coat of Arms belonging only to one.

A foul-mouthed barbarian who honestly believed his Coat of Arms to be terrifying.

A crowning achievement.

Mordred, Knight of the Round.

_Ally._

That was all Tristan needed to know before taking action.

"Charge!" He ordered again, raising his voice to let it ride the wind.

With him at the front forming an arrowhead-formation, he charged in the direction of Palamid and the others who determined that they weakened the enemy enough for a full-on confrontation.

If Tristan could notice Palamid and the other's emergence, then Palamid could of course notice Tristan.

As if the two had coordinated with each other, Palamid led a charge from the back, thoroughly flanking the Saxons in the middle who were cut down like weeds. It was even more so because Tristan had lost his reservations in preserving his stamina.

His fingers continuously plucked Failnaught's strings, killing all who would impede his charge until the two armies met up and joined together.

In this case, the first individual Tristan met was a familiar face.

"Tristan," Mordred called out curtly.

"Mordred," Tristan replied back. "Did you gather this army? No," Tristan shook his head. "It doesn't matter if you did or not, we need to reinforce Lancelot's side and then aid the King."

Mordred grunted and didn't say anything else, only glanced at Tristan for a moment longer when she noticed him staring in awe at her Coat of Arms.

She had drawn it herself, of course it would be terrifying. Her back unknowingly straightened up in pride, but Tristan was hardly paying attention anymore.

He'd allow Mordred to believe what Mordred wanted to believe. If anything, Mordred's Coat of Arms looked adorable.

Shaking his head, Tristan was moments away from assessing Lancelot's situation when he noticed a scene that took his voice away.

He opened his eyes wide. "T-The King, the King's in trouble!"

Having charged directly towards the enemy leaders to occupy them to increase the chances of Lancelot and Tristan breaking out of the encirclement, the King stood alone fighting over a hill.

Initially, Arturia had no problems dealing with her predicament, but her exhaustion was catching up to her and making her movements sloppy.

The King needed help but was too far away and surrounded by too many enemies for anyone to come to her aid.

Palamid and the Son of Wolfred knew it.

Tristan knew it.

And so did Mordred.

"Fuck," Mordred cursed, uncaring for anything else as she ran forward and drew her sword. Yet she knew that no matter how hard she tried or fought, there was no way that she would be able to make it in time.

Yet was she just supposed to sit and watch as the one person she wanted to be acknowledge by get killed by her enemies?

She couldn't accept it.

Yet more than just Mordred, someone else was already taking the initiative.

Carried subconsciously by his own feet, for the first time in years, Shirou felt an emotion within him that he never had before as a blacksmith.

Rage.

Such unbridled rage that his face was the picture of fury.

The sight of the King's back, hunched over and burdened caused a part of his mind to snap when the King sustained wound after wound.

_'I searched for you.'_

_'I searched and I searched and I searched, yet still you were nowhere.'_

_'With these hands that could hold nothing, would you still be waiting?'_

"W-What are you doing?" Palamid's words entered his ears, but he completely ignored them as he charged into the Saxon's defensive lines.

The hammer in his hands was a literal blur as any Saxon who impeded his way was utterly reduced to paste.

As his anger swelled, the strength in his arms, the power in his legs reached levels unheard of.

_'A wish to the stars. A miracle born from a deep yearning.'_

His head began to ache with a pain that bordered on intolerable, yet even still. _Even still-!._

Why was it that he couldn't stop?

There was no rationality in his actions- no logical trail of thought to be followed.

It was simply his instinct.

_'To protect what was once lost at any cost.'_

Before him was one of the many catapults the Saxons had brought in preparation for a siege. As the battle had devolved into an open confrontation, the catapults were rendered irrelevant and arranged at the back of the Saxon army.

Fine with him. He didn't care.

He already knew what he was going to do.

Dropping his hammer because it was too heavy, he looked around and picked up a common sword.

With the strength of a single hand, he pulled down the lever of the catapult and loaded himself into the bucket after setting the counter weight.

By this point, Palamid and the others in the distance knew exactly what he was intending on doing.

Mordred who was nearest to him quickly made her way over.

She didn't say anything, she didn't have to for him to understand her concerns. Yet now wasn't the time.

"You better not die, otherwise I-I swear that I'll take your corpse and use it as a shield," Mordred forced out.

He stared at her. "Are you tempting me right now?"

"S-Shut up! What kind of idiot are you?!" Mordred glowered at him. "Really, j-just don't die on me."

He patted Mordred's head and didn't say another word until he made direct eye contact with Mordred and nodded.

"Cut the rope!"

Mordred hesitated. If she was being honest with herself, both her worry for the King and Shirou were roughly equal. She didn't want to lose one over the other and was horrified at the prospect of losing both.

If the King couldn't be saved, then she'd rather Shirou not go.

She pursed her lips.

Yet seeing the look on Shirou's expression, her hesitation vanished.

The rope of the catapult snapped under her sword, prompting the mechanism to fire.

A human meteor sailing across the sky.

* * *

When was it that she had lost sight of it?

Perhaps it was when the only happiness in her life was torn away from her,

Arturia pulled the sword stabbed into her stomach directly out of her, Avalon's light healing her from all injuries even as she bore with the pain. Avalon was Excalibur's sheath bearing the property of potent healing across her body except for a critical strike to the brain.

Swords, spears, arrows, would constantly stab, cut, or pierce through her, yet she didn't care. She used only the bare minimum of movements to keep her head safe.

Hissing as a sword stabbed through her heart, she didn't even bat an eye before striking down her assailant.

"Y-You were stabbed in the heart," one of the Saxon commanders stuttered. "Y-You're not human."

She stood where she was, staring at the sword run through her. The pain was fresh on her mind, yet nothing compared to the pain of emptiness within her.

She once again pulled the sword from out of her and watched as it clattered to the ground. An instant later, Avalon healed the critical wound as if it had never been there.

_'When you fight, you should fight to protect yourself.'_

She was getting tired.

The more tired she got, the easier it was for past memories to resurface within her.

_'Take better care of yourself, I'll always be there to help.'_

Liar.

She swallowed the lump forming in her throat and engaged the enemy once more. She didn't care for her injuries as the pain helped dull her mind from the sadness within her.

Yet, exhaustion was slowly setting in. Her arms were limp, her breathing ragged. It was a miracle in and out of itself that she was still able to protect her head from sustaining any damage.

She contemplated firing another shot from Excalibur, but doing so would drain her to the point that she'd become unconscious. Her death would then be a certainty. Therefore, she held on, hoping that Tristan or Lancelot could deal with their enemies fast enough to come to her aid.

Unfortunately, as the hours dragged on, even she had her limits. Coupled with the fact that the only meal she had actually eaten in the past few days was the one Bedivere had provided, she had long since passed empty.

The scene that Tristan had noticed from the distance was the result of her body finally collapsing after weeks of fighting at the front.

_No more. It's enough._

Having collapsed on the ground, the Saxon leaders didn't hesitate to stab her while she was down.

Legs.

Arms.

Chest.

She was literally pinned, but not a single yell escaped her mouth.

The pain of her heart was far greater than any physical pain.

To the utter shock of the Saxon leaders, she was _still_ alive.

Avalon's potent healing was not to be underestimated, unless she suffered a fatal head injury, she was basically immortal. This was the reason why Merlin always insisted that the sheath was better than the sword.

In fact, she already knew that it probably had the means to save her from her predicament by activating Avalon's absolute defence, but a part of her didn't want to use it.

_How long had she been enduring?_

_Day after day._

_What was the point anymore?_

She stared at the Saxon leaders expressionlessly, a hollowness in her eyes.

They stiffened in fear, thinking that she was cursing them. Instantly, one finally moved to strike her head.

She didn't even blink, her thoughts elsewhere.

_Would she see him once again when next she opened her eyes?_

_Better yet, was someone like her who couldn't even protect those dear to her worthy enough?_

It was the only thought in her mind.

The part of her that was actually wishing for death.

_Then so be it._

She closed her eyes, yet abruptly opened them in the next instant.

It was a deafening crash, two feet forcibly digging into the ground and leaving behind thick trenches in their wake.

The dust and debris produced from the sudden impact struck the nearby Saxon leaders and forced them to back away. Meanwhile, the force of the landing, buffeted the area with a strong wind that dislodged the swords pinning Arturia to the ground. Almost immediately, Avalon used the opportunity to heal her injuries, yet the same could not be said for her stamina.

Shakily, she sat up then promptly stiffened, her breaths coming out erratically.

For the first time amidst a battlefield, she utterly lost her composure.

_The brittle wall separating the fragility of her mind shattered beyond repair._

She was hyperventilating, a hand clutching tightly to her chest as she became fully aware that she was crying. She wanted to speak, to yell, but no words were coming from out of her mouth.

Her body was trembling.

It was a figure she dreamt of every night she forced herself to sleep.

Older now, yet still possessing the same bearings, a man was across from her; his back facing her as he stood protectively in front.

_"I am your Knight.'_

The memories from so long ago came flooding back like a tidal wave.

It was almost impossible to stop the sobs working their way up out of her throat, but she didn't dare let them out in fear that what was before was only a figment of her imagination.

_Please._

_Please._

She was pleading desperately, in her mind.

_Shirou._

Her hand reached out, and in that moment when her quivering fingers touched solid skin, it was then that she knew that what was in front of her was real.

She hugged him in desperation, her face burying into the groove of his back and nuzzling up to his warmth.

He reacted at the sudden contact but she didn't care, the grip she had around him only tightening when he tried to shake her off.

Unfortunately, there was no way, he was going to be able to get her to let go of him again so easily.

He was real.

And that was all that mattered.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for Reading!


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